


It's No Better to be Safe than Sorry

by zoemathemata



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical Romance, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Oblivious John Sheppard, Oblivious Rodney McKay, Pining John Sheppard, Pining Rodney McKay, Unhappy marriage, don't pay too much attention to the plot, we're here for the pining romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25658524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemathemata/pseuds/zoemathemata
Summary: While no one knows the real identity of the Falcon and his band of soldiers, the entire ton is familiar, and perhaps a little in love, with his exploits. The Falcon swoops into Genii controlled areas -  daring and audacious - freeing scientists and information.  The ton is a light with gossip: they say the Falcon flies in and out as daringly as his namesake suggests. They his recklessness is unmatched. They say he can’t be caught.Marchioner Rodney McKay-Sheppard most certainly does not have the constitution for such treacherous, and fearsome work, but he does what he can to support the cause. A brilliant a scientist, Rodney designed the cryptography system the Falcon uses to keep messages between the Falcon and his allies secure from prying Genii eyes. It has remained maddeningly impervious to any Genii attempts to crack it, while the Genii’s own cyphers are easily broken and laid bare by him.If only his marriage to the Marquis John Sheppard was as simple for him to solve as the Genii codes.**Inspired by The Scarlet Pimpernel**
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 41
Kudos: 94
Collections: McShep Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the McShep Big Bang 2020 Companion piece to this as well! - [Sorry, but Safe](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/MBB_2020/works/25464715) by [ buying_the_space_farm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buying_the_space_farm/pseuds/buying_the_space_farm).

It was difficult to wait while Horatio poured his coffee, and if it had been anyone but Horatio, the urge to snap his fingers and hurry the man along would be irresistible. However, Rodney and Horatio had a morning routine, an understanding. It instilled some kind of pride in Horatio to ensure everything about the ‘breakfast experience’ was precisely done - stand at the correct distance from the table, move Rodneys’ cup and saucer to the proper place at Rodney’s side, pour the beverage in such a way that one could not only appreciate the depth of the color of the coffee, but also receive a mouth-watering aroma from the way the steam rose from the cup, move away from the table and depart silently. It was a ritual.

One that was primarily done with only Rodney there to witness it. One would think being married meant one would have breakfast more often than not with one’s spouse. In Rodney’s case, one would be mistaken.

Rodney’s part in the ritual was only to remain still and not interrupt. He would then be the recipient of not one, but several cups of divinely tasting coffee. It had taken several months for both of them to understand one another when Rodney first moved in after the wedding. Rodney had been… well. His hopes for marriage had not gone as he had liked. Horatio’s (possibly secret, unvoiced) hopes for a quiet, demure mistress had also gone awry. But they now had an appreciation for one another. Horatio now completed the entire ritual at a much faster pace than he had previously attempted, and Rodney stopped snapping his fingers and kept his mouth shut.

Both were satisfied.

It was likely the only mutual satisfaction to be had in the manor. Not that Rodney thought about those things. At all. Ever. 

Once Horatio was finished pouring, he stepped back from the table and wiped the spout of the coffee pot delicately with a pristinely white napkin. It was for show as there wasn’t a drop to be found on the spout - Horatio would never allow the waste.

Rodney slurped at his cup and then gave a low, satisfied groan, a sound which he was sure made the butler’s lips quirk in a slight grin.

“Excellent as always, Horatio, thank you.”

Horatio offered a slight bow and then set the coffee pot down on the serving cart and moved the plates holding Rodney’s toast and eggs from the cart to the table.

“Your breakfast, Marchioner.”

Rodney hesitated, the cup of coffee partway between his cup and his lips. His jaw worked for a moment and then he took his second slurp. Hearing his title always sent a frisson of…something through him. He wasn’t always astute in recognizing his own emotions to determine exactly what it was and he affirmed he did not deeply enough to examine it and tease out its meaning. Instead, he tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. Horatio set down one more item in front of him, or rather, one bundle of several items.

“The correspondence.”

It was a modestly plump bundle, as it was most days. Rodney corresponded with a number of scientists both here, in Atlantis, and abroad. Some as far as Asgard. There would likely be several invitations to social events as well that Rodney had to laboriously sort through. Sheppard, his husband, the Marquis, was quite favorably embraced by the _ton_ and there were often more invites than they could possibly accept. Rodney’s had taken on the management of the correspondence and the calendar as part of his household duties.

It was a complete and utter waste of his time and scientific mind.

However, it needed to be done and since his….marriage (another word that always made Rodney pause, and again, he did not care to look too deeply into why), Rodney had developed a rather efficient system. Sort announcements and invitations first by date of proposed function and cross check against current calendar. Immediately reject and write letters of regret to conflicting requests, stating the already accepted invitation. Then, sort the remaining cards by his own personal interest of entertainment to be provided and also how much he liked the sender. Accept the ones he was interested in or that were from actual close friends or peers. Radek was regularly in this group on both counts. He tended to invite rather interesting and exotic speakers on a variety of scientific topics that Rodney was interested in, and he could reliably be counted on for a rousing debate on any current scientific papers that had recently been published. Update calendar with accepted dates. Review reaming invitations and, if he were in the mood, consider any societal backlash of discarding the whole lot summarily. But, more likely than not, sort through and accept or reject the remainder, updating the calendar as he did.

He would then ask Horatio to find the Marquis’ personal calendar and bring it to the table, whereby he would copy any new events from the master, into the second calendar - the one belonging to the Marquis.

To date, he’d never once heard a word of complaint, or anything else from Sheppard on his system. If Sheppard were home, he would be ready for every event at the correct time, and always seemed aware of where they were going and with whom they would be visiting. Rodney accepted several extremely high-level physics and astronomy lectures, sure the Marquis would decline, and leave Rodney to go on his own. But to Rodney’s chagrin, the Marquis not only quite often attended, he also made insightful and intelligent comments on the topics.

It was infuriating.

Rodney unwrapped the correspondence bundle, tapping the entire thing on the table a few times to ensure all the edges lay completely flat. Then, he opened his master calendar, and began to sort through the letters, which were the remainder of yesterday’s correspondence (arrived later in the day) and anything that had arrived before breakfast. As he sorted and began his notations, he ate his toast and eggs, pausing now and again to drink more coffee, or lean off to the side as Horatio re-filled his cup. Horatio was worth his weight in gold. He made coffee that was akin to black silk on the tongue, and had a preternatural sense of when Rodney was almost, but not quite, on his last slurp - appearing silently by Rodney’s side with more hot coffee.

Gold.

He was just in the middle of a rather interesting letter from one of his Asgardian colleagues when a loud cacophony of sounds interrupted him. It took him a moment to place the noise and determine what it was. It was the clatter of someone, or several someones, coming in the servant’s entrance in the kitchen and making a ruckus out of it. He could hear hushed whispering and what generally sounded like several bodies bumping around. He looked at Horatio, Horatio looked at him, and then they both turned to the doorway to the kitchen, which was slightly ajar. Rodney caught eyes with a man who had presumably just entered the manor through the back door.

Ah, of course. Not just any man, but the Marquis Lord Sheppard. Rodney’s husband.

Sheppard (for certainly Rodney never thought of him by his Christian name - not if he could help it) appeared to smile as he caught Rodney’s eye and then shuffle-stepped into the room, batting away the hand of his valet, Lorne. That man must also be worth his weight in gold, for he merely squared his shoulders at the minor assault and followed the Marquis into the dining room. Lorne had a tight look about his eyes as his hand hovered just over the Marquis’ shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Rodney saw Horatio set down the coffee pot (Rodney hoped it was set down close by!) and bring a second set of dishes out of somewhere, setting another place, at the opposite end of the table for Sheppard.

Sheppard had a slight lurch to his step as he moved across the room, Rodney’s eyes tracking him the whole way. God lord, was he still completely foxed? Rodney took a delicate sniff. He couldn’t scent any spirits, but that was hardly proof of anything. Lorne kept his hand just a hairsbreadth away from the Marquis and together they moved to the end of the table. Rodney assumed Lorne was probably quite adept at guiding the drunken man thither and yon. Sheppard carefully maneuvered to the place Horatio had just finished setting at just at the exact moment that Horatio was snapping out a fresh, pristinely white cloth napkin. At the crack of it, Sheppard winced as he slowly set himself down in the chair.

The sharp sound was no doubt excruciating against the constant hangover from being continually drunk or otherwise intoxicated. As Rodney was sure was the norm with his husband.

“Sir, perhaps it would be best if we retired you to your rooms,” Lorne said, casting a glance toward Rodney, for what reason, Rodney had no idea. It wasn’t as though he were shocked by his husband’s appearance.

The Marquis waved dismissively at Lorne. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You should be abed. It’s late.”

“It’s early,” Sheppard countered and then glanced at Rodney and winked. _Winked_. That louse. Lorne’s jaw worked. Sheppard turned his gaze from Rodney back to Lorne and they had some kind of standoff that Rodney thought might end in a stalemate until Lorne finally gave a clipped nod.

“I will prepare your chambers for your _rest_.” Lorne bit out the last word like it was made of poison. “Do not linger too long. You know how _tired_ you get.” He glanced once more at Rodney and then took his leave. But not before Rodney thought he heard a muttered, “you idiot.” 

Horatio poured the Marquis a cup of coffee and Sheppard took a solid gulp, not adding any cream or sugar before he did. Sheppard looked toward Rodney again and smiled. 

“Good morning.”

His voice was sleep-rough, if you could still say that when you were relatively certain a person had not gotten any sleep. His clothes seemed somewhat rumpled which was a dead give-away that they were surely yesterday’s. Lorne was too fine a valet to leave his master in anything but precisely pressed linens, and Sheppard was far too vain to not always look his best if at all possible. The dark green suit seemed slightly crumpled, the shirt was wrinkled, and his cravat, normally intricately and expertly tied, somewhat crooked.

Rodney’s husband had apparently not made it home before the sun came up, preferring to see dawn from the side of the previous day.

It was just another day in the life, Rodney supposed. He doubted his husband made it home many nights. But that was only a guess, of course.

One would have to share a bed or even a room with one’s husband to be certain. And that was not the case with their marriage.

Rodney rolled his pen slightly between his fingers, the comment he’d been about to make to respond to the Asgardian scientist annoyingly forgotten in the wake of the surprise event that was Sheppard awake at breakfast and sitting at the table.

“Cat got your tongue?” Sheppard drawled as Horatio served him a plate of toast and eggs, the same as had been prepared for Rodney. Horatio really was a gem. How on earth did the man have breakfast hot and ready for the Marquis when this was the first time he’d been at breakfast at the same time as Rodney in… well. Rodney could not quite recall.

“Good morning,” Rodney parroted back, stupor finally broken. Sheppard smiled at Rodney’s words. That lazy, charming smile of his.

Rodney looked back down at his letters, shuffling the papers unnecessarily before shifting slightly in his seat and turning his attention to re-read Thor’s letter on his new astrophysical observations.

“Is that the correspondence?” Sheppard asked.

Rodney set his pen down, reminding himself there was no need to feel angry and hurt. Sheppard had never done a thing to him.

Not one thing. At all. Ever. Possibly he’d never even thought about doing _things_ to Rodney.

Rodney dismissed the thought. It was ridiculous to have hurt or bruised feelings about one’s marriage being exactly like every other marriage in the _ton_. And Sheppard wasn’t cruel. He didn’t hurl insults or fists at Rodney. Indeed, when he was in the same room as Rodney, he appeared to give Rodney his full attention - even go so far as to remember details of things Rodney mentioned in passing. There was no shortage of funds for either the house or Rodney’s work. Sheppard was out all hours of the evenings at gaming halls, or gentleman’s clubs or… elsewhere (illicit, unspoken words trailed their long, silken fingers across Rodney’s mind when he imagined where Sheppard might spend his time), but he was quite generous and had granted a monthly stipend for Rodney to use on whatever he wished. The money was always in Rodney’s account, always on time, and Sheppard never asked Rodney what he spent it on.

So it was completely ineffectual and childish to have the insatiable urge to lash out at the Marquis for living in his own house, for sitting at his own table and for speaking to his own husband. 

“Yes, I’m just sorting through it now.”

“Any interesting invitations?”

Rodney frowned, not sure he understood the question. “I’m not sure how one invitation can be more interesting than another. It’s the middle of the season. They are all fairly standard.”

“I heard Lady Athar is back in town unexpectedly and is holding a ball next week.”

Rodney picked up the discard pile, already recalling the invitation and finding it quickly in the pile. “Yes, but it arrived rather late with respect to the date and we are already committed to a concert by the Athosian children that evening.”

Sheppard set his cup down and Horatio silently filled it. Dammit. That was Rodney’s coffee. Sheppard hardly, if ever, took breakfast this early. He genuinely could not remember the last time he’d seen the Marquis before the noon-time sun. “Could you send our deepest regards to the children instead and accept Lady Athar’s invitation instead?”

But this was the system. Rodney’s system. Arrangements had been made. Rodney stared at the overly flourished and ornate writing of Lady Athar’s envelope and then at the date on the calendar where the woodwind concert was already entered.

“I’m sure the children won’t miss us,” continued John. “Send them donation. Or invite them here to see the estate and ride the ponies. Children love ponies.”

If Rodney’d had any toast in his mouth he would have choked on it.

“Children? Here at the estate?”

John shrugged one shoulder and then seemed to grimace slightly, shifting in his seat a bit. “Sure. Why not?”

Rodney rolled his pen between his fingers and then looked down and realized it had leaked some ink, adding to the permanent blue-black stains on his hands. It wasn’t as though he had a real reason he couldn’t send his regrets to the Athosians and accept the other invitation. People made changes all the time to their calendars and no one thought anything of it. Though he already felt tired at the thought of a ball. Especially Lady Athar. She was like her correspondence - overly flourished and ornate. He’d had to stand near to her at a lecture once and had been nearly overcome by her perfume. She must bathe in it. Floral and sugary. He could already see her ball in his head - large tables with too sweet food, nearly everything surely doused in sugar, paired with overly saccharine champagne.

Feeling like a bit like a deflated soufflé, Rodney crossed out the concert in a single, precise line and wrote in Lady Athar’s ball instead. When he spoke with Radek today he would see if he could badger the Bohemian into attending. If he hadn’t already accepted.

“Very well, if those are your wishes, I will update the calendar.”

“Our calendar,” Sheppard added. Unnecessarily.

“Yes, the calendar.”

Sheppard smiled, that wide, showy grin that absolutely did not make anything happen to Rodney’s stomach. That was merely the acidity of the coffee and too little food just yet. He savagely took another bite of toast.

“Now that’s all settled, we can enjoy our breakfast together,” Sheppard said, taking another drink of coffee. “I saw one of the papers you’re reading in library.”

Rodney willed himself not to freeze and forced himself to take a drink of his coffee. “Oh?” He asked, hoping the tone of his voice was convincingly bland.

“Yes, something called chemical thermodynamics.”

He very nearly sagged with relief. He didn’t think he’d been foolish or careless enough to leave any of his cryptography materials lying around, but for a moment, he hadn’t been sure. Rodney was quite meticulous about locking them up in the false bottom of this desk, or keeping them safely in his small laboratory, but he sometimes worked late and got tired. When Sheppard had spoken about his paper, Rodney had feared for a moment he’d left something damming out, but it seemed all Sheppard had found was one of his more leisurely articles.

“Yes, that is newly arrived from Asgard. It may have merit, but I’m still gathering information.”

Sheppard smiled and Rodney was confused. Why on earth would that be amusing?

“It looked already well-read and you left notes all over the margin.”

“It shows some promise, but as I said, it is still new and I’m gathering more information.”’

“More papers?”

Honestly, why was he interested? “Perhaps. Radek and I are attending some lectures this week.”

“It seemed to me it was trying to predict spontaneity.”

Rodney frowned, unsure how Sheppard had managed to catch onto the crux of the paper and why he was bringing it up. The Marquis was not a slow or simple man, but he did tend to favor discussions on long-passed military battles, or the latest fashion of cravat tying. Perhaps hair tousling. Rodney was not sure.

“Yes, the entire field is about establishing the feasibility of spontaneity to predict the energy exchange.”

Sheppard buttered his toast. “Doesn’t all that prediction take away the spontaneous part of spontaneity?”

Rodney huffed. “It’s hardly the same thing. You’re referring to the traditional usage of the word spontaneous, which is sudden or without premeditation. Spontaneity,” he spaced out the syllables of the word more slowly, enunciating each consistent, “is more about the evolution of a system releases energy and moves to a lower, more stable state.”

“Really?” Sheppard drawled, taken an obscenely large bite of toast. “So who exactly cares about all this mumbo-jumbo.”

Unable to let such an inflammatory statement pass by, Rodney straightened in his chair and took a deep breath.

#

Rodney exited the carriage and checked his pocket watch. He was late, dammit. He hated being late. But breakfast with Sheppard had gone longer than Rodney intended, with Sheppard asking question after question about articles Rodney was reading. That pushed back replying to the correspondence, and _that_ pushed back Rodney leaving on time for coffee with Radek. He put his watch back in his pocket and patted the small bundle of papers he had in his inner pocket. He glanced around trying not to look like he was glancing around. Honestly, this entire subterfuge lifestyle was ridiculous.

But Rodney was committed to help however he could. Everyone read the newspapers and heard the whisperings about what was going on in the Genii land. At times, it was hard to tell if it was salacious gossip to fuel the sale of more newspapers or if it had all been embellished as it worked its way through society. But, if even half of what Rodney read and heard was true… well. They had to do what they could to liberate as many people, mostly scientists, from the Genii land as possible. Rodney may not know any of them personally, but he could imagine what it would be like to be forced to study science based on the whims of your leadership - a leadership which by all accounts was only interested in power, and did not care what it had to do to acquire it.

Rodney investigated scientific items because they were interesting, or could advance society at large, or provide breakthroughs in other branches of science. He studied the nature of material to know what the world was made of. He had interest in astronomy, mathematics, and engineering. All because he wanted to know - how did this thing work, how did that thing work, could he put these two things together and get something else entirely? Was the sky made of the same stuff? What about the stars? The sun? The moon? There was no end to his curiosity and to what he wanted to learn.

But it never once crossed his mind while he was working on any of his numerous experiments, or reading any of the newest journals, “Ah, yes, this would be a fantastic and very efficient way of mass murdering as many people as possible from a distance.”

Madness.

Which was how he found himself in the position he was, crossing the street, careful not only to avoid puddles (which would leave him with damp shoes and trousers for the rest of the outing), but also to keep the small bundle of items close to his chest safe and secure all while rushing to make up for lost time.

Sheppard had talked and talked, and asked questions and Rodney tried to cut him off but he’d been damn persistent and dammit, there was the puddle! With a squelch, he stepped out of the small body of water he’d not managed to avoid and entered the coffee shop, shaking his foot slightly.

“Rodney, Rodney.”

Rodney looked over and saw Radek already seated at one of the small tables off to the side, in a decorative alcoves. It was poorly lit, not being in the direct sunlight coming in from the windows, while also not being near any of the newer electric lamps that were distributed haphazardly around the shop. Honestly, did no one own a level or a measuring tape? It would behoove all patrons if they had been evenly spaced. But the poor distribution served Rodney and Radek well, providing them with a slightly darker table where it would be difficult to see what they may be working on or exchanging.

Rodney hustled over and took the seat Radek gestured to, still shaking his one foot which was thoroughly soaked.

“I have taken the liberty of ordering for us. It’s easier to keep the seats when there is money involved, no?” Radek asked.

Rodney hardly had time to nod in agreement before an attendant came by with a large tray. He set down two rather big cups on saucers, one in front of each man.

“What on earth is this?” Rodney asked. He could smell coffee, but wasn’t sure.

“This is the latest thing I have learned from abroad. Cappuccino,” Radek said, taking his cup and saucer from the table where it was placed and taking a sip. It left him with a ridiculous white mustache which he then dabbed at with his kerchief.

“It smells like coffee.”

“It _is_ coffee. Espresso topped with foamed milk. Try, try. You will love it.”

Slightly skeptical, Rodney picked up his own beverage and took a tentative sip. At his appreciative expression, Radek smiled.

“See? Genius.”

Rodney had to admit, albeit begrudgingly that it was very good. It had the rich taste of coffee, but was smoothed out by the milk and foam. He liked it; he just hated when Radek found something before he did.

“Yes, yes, it’s fantastic. Don’t let this go to your head. It’s not as though you’ve turned lead into gold.”

“Bah,” Radek waved a hand dismissively. “That is a fool’s pursuit and you know it.”

Rodney felt his lips quirk in agreement. “Doesn’t stop Kavanaugh from continuing to try.”

“As I said, fool’s pursuit.” Radek shifted slightly in his seat, his teasing demeanor gone. Rodney leaned in slightly, ready to get down to business.

“Have you read today’s paper?” Radek asked.

“No, it hadn’t arrived with this morning’s correspondence and then I ran late. Why?” Rodney frowned. “What does it say?”

Radek pulled out the morning’s paper from a small leather briefcase he had next to the table and placed it in front of Rodney. Rodney had to fight the urge to look around to see if anyone was watching them, reminding himself they weren’t discussing anything out of the ordinary. Yet. Merely sharing a newspaper.

“He was out again last night. There was a commotion at one of the border crossings. Guards are not talking, but there is an farming estate close by and one of the tenants says there was gunfire and a struggle.”

“Gunfire?” Rodney hissed. This time he did look around, his tone had been sharp and somewhat loud, but no one seemed to have noticed. “What happened?” Rodney picked up the paper and scanned the headline.

_Falcon Strikes Again? Gunfire at Genii Crossing_

Rodney skimmed the article. There was nothing of note, or rather, there was a lot of writing and no real information. It was exactly as Radek had said - something happened at the border, no one knew what, but there were reports of some kind of a struggle that ended in gunfire.

“When did this happen?”

“It must have been very early this morning or late last night for it to make the morning papers.”

“Yes, enough time to have word travel and then have it set up for printing,” Rodney murmured. “But this says nothing.” Rodney folded the paper and pushed it back at Radek who folded it once more and tucked it back into his valise. “You’ve heard something else, though?” Given Radek’s expression, it was a fair bet the Bohemian knew more than what was listed in the paper.

“My sources say he was injured.”

“Injured!” Rodney repeated “Was he shot?” He tried very hard to keep his voice low and again resist the urge to glance around.

“I do not know, but we must pray.”

Rodney huffed derisively. “Yes, yes, thoughts and prayers. But you and I both have a bit more to do, don’t we?” He reached into his pocket and took out his small package, setting it down on the table, on the inside, next to Radek’s overly large cappuccino. “Decoded pages and new disks.”

Radek reached out slowly, so carefully, and slid the package toward him and placed it neatly in his valise with the paper. “To our knowledge, the Genii have not broken any of the others yet.”

“All the more reason to keep updating them and using new ones. If we don’t give them enough material, they will have an even harder time cracking it.”

“But your codes are uncrackable, no?”

Rodney was ready to hotly defend himself and assure Radek that of course his codes were uncrackable when he realized Radek was only teasing him, a slight smirk on his face.

“Well, let’s hope there isn’t a Genii Rodney McKay.”

“Rodney McKay-Sheppard,” Radek corrected. “ _Marchioner_ Sheppard in fact.”

Rodney leaned over the table sharply. “What is this obsession you have with my marriage? It’s unhealthy and unnatural.”

“I have no obsession. I simply wish to point out you often forget your married name.” Radek took another sip of his coffee, an overly innocent expression on his face. “And the Marquis is a very fine looking man.”

“Oh really? I wouldn’t know as I often only see him disheveled and hungover.”

Radek paused, worrying his fingers together slightly in a nervous habit. “But he is not cruel?”

Defeated, Rodney sagged back in his chair. “No. He is not.” If he were, Rodney could hate him.

Radek tapped a finger against the fine china of his cup. “I only inquire because we are colleagues and since your marriage, you often seem troubled.”

Rodney straightened his spine. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

Radek made a sort of ‘very well’ gesture, letting the subject drop. He reached back into his valise and pulled out his own small envelope. “More work for you.”

Rodney took it and pocketed it. “If it’s as easy as the last ones, it shouldn’t take me long. They might even still be using the same ciphers.”

“Well, as you say, let us hope they don’t have their own Rodney. For surely the world would not curse us with two,” Radek added cheekily.

“I don’t know why I put up with you. Insolent and childish.”

Radek chuckled outright at that. “Yes, but I bring you such treats as this,” he said, raising his cup again. Rodney grumbled at bit and drank his own coffee. Damn him, he was right. It was quite good.

“Now, tell me, how are your lecture notes progressing? You present this week, yes?”

Much more comfortable to be discussing scientific items once again, Rodney relaxed and settled in to discuss his upcoming presentation with Radek.


	2. Chapter 2

While working on deciphering the Genii codes was not something Rodney would equate with leisure or associate with fun; it was intriguing and he often lost much time to it. He’d already broken many of the Genii cyphers, but tried not to let past work color his opinions or thoughts when he sat down to work on new communiques. He also tried not to think about how such communiques were acquired. Did they come from the Falcon himself? Did the man not only rescue Genii scientists and scurry them over the border, or did he also manage to be the main interceptor of the correspondence Rodney worked on? Who was he? Why did he do the work he did?

Rodney didn’t know. That was part of the nature of the work. He knew only Radek. Radek gave Rodney Genii transmissions to crack, and also took the cypher discs Rodney made which could be used to create coded messages for anyone in Atlantis who needed them. Rodney wasn’t sure if his work went to the Atlantean government or to the Falcon himself. Each individual was aware only of the small portion they were working on and no more. While the saying, ‘the only way two people can keep a secret is if one of them is dead’ was obviously not enforced since the whole enterprise certainly needed more than one person, it definitely weighed heavy on the minds of those who organized the whole operation. Rodney worked with Radek. Who else Radek worked with, Rodney did not know and never asked. He was certain Radek wouldn’t tell him even if he did. Rodney’s job was to make and break cyphers. Radek’s job was to courier the information back and forth. Someone else received it and did… something with it. Rodney didn’t know what. He wouldn’t even be sure his work was helping if it weren’t for the Genii messages he deciphered, some of which clearly stated their knowledge their correspondence was being intercepted and their suspicion or, in some cases, iron-clad assertion that their cyphers were being broken by Atlantean scientists.

Or scientist (singular) as it happened to be. Rodney did not think anyone else in Atlantis was working on the codes. Of course, due to the aforementioned reasons, he could not be certain, but knowing what he knew of his colleagues in Atlantis, he could think of no peers that would have the skill set to work on the cyphers as he did. Radek would be the only one who would come close, but since he was the one ferrying the work between Rodney and the Falcon’s team, Rodney thought it highly unlikely.

This newest set of papers Rodney was working on was not yet deciphered but he had no fear he would not manage it. He knew that if he put his mind to it, the code would eventually yield. He felt the same confidence in his cypher disks.

He wondered if the Falcon himself used the disks - if some part of something that Rodney had handled and crafted was also handled by the man known only by his _nom de guerre_. Rodney hardly fancied himself the romantic type, but he did take a certain pride in thinking that his work supported what the Falcon did. Rodney knew with absolute certainty there were scientists now in Atlantis that were formerly under Genii power. They had not been seen out and about in society (and were being kept in a safe and secure location), but Rodney had been privy to the correspondence from the Genii that detailed their loss, and what a crushing blow it was to the Genii cause. They were scientists who had been working on the power of radiation and atomic physics. It was Rodney’s familiarity with the those scientific topics that enabled him to more quickly break the cyphers given to him by Radek. Rodney wondered if the scientists would eventually come out of hiding and would speak of what happened to them, and of their scientific work. Perhaps they had enough disruption to their lives and would simply want to live out the rest of them quietly.

Rodney also wondered how safe they felt now that they were in Atlantis. While they were free of their homeland, there were Genii diplomats residing in Atlantis - some who were friends with the upper echelons of the _ton_. The Genii Ambassador, Acastus Kolya, was one such diplomat. Rodney had never met nor spoken to him directly and frankly did not want to. The sharp expression on the man’s severe face, the whispered words of his hidden cruelty, the way some people of the ton flocked to him while others seemed to blanche and melt into the background when he was around, were all enough warning signs for Rodney to stay far, far away. If the Genii government wanted or needed something done in Atlantis, something perhaps not wholly legal, Rodney had no doubt Kolya was the man who would see it done for them. He wasn’t surprised the Genii scientists who had been rescued were not seen around Atlantis. If Rodney were one of of them, and he also knew Kolya was in the same city, he would stay well and truly hidden also.

Similar opinion was held by some of the _ton_ if the gossip and fodder of many social gatherings that Rodney had been in attendance was to be believed. There were as many people trying to get out of his path as there were fawning over him and when he attended a ball.

Of course the other main topic at social events was of Falcon. Rodney had heard many interesting and foolish guesses of who he was. Some said there was no one person and instead that it was an elite team of an unacknowledged faction of the government. Other claimed it was a collaboration of several of society’s retired military generals banded together to do what they could with their skills honed from the wars long past. Or maybe it was a few rogue members of an intelligence branch who used what they learned during the day to execute their work at night. 

The only thing for certain was that he, or they, often left behind a small piece of paper with the silhouette of a falcon on it. Seen as a taunt to the Genii, or a cry of liberation and courage (depending on what side of the border you called home).

It must be difficult for the man, or men, or women involved, thought Rodney. He found his own work difficult himself at times and couldn’t wait to speak with Radek on the latest correspondence he had cracked, or on new cyphers he created. He wondered if everyone involved had at least one person they could rely on and confide in. He hoped so.

The sound of the door creaking open startled him and he shuffled his papers around, moving the cypher pages underneath other work he had on his desk. He shouldn’t have taken the chance working in his study in the house and should have instead taken the whole lot out to his lab, where he had far more warning when someone arrived. He looked up and, as usual with Sheppard, Rodney saw his hair before he saw the rest of him - a shock of black coming around the edge of the door as he peered his head in. Honestly, did the man’s valet not own a comb?

Sheppard smiled when he saw Rodney, his expression almost as though he’d poked his head into the study specifically to find Rodney and he was glad he did. But that couldn’t be the case. While Rodney found he and Sheppard got along just fine, it wasn’t as though he would have a specific reason to search Rodney out.

“There you are,” Sheppard said and then slunk into the room. Yes, that was the word for it. The man moved like a big cat and Rodney didn’t find it attractive.

At all.

“Yes, here I am.”

Sheppard smiled at Rodney and Rodney had to look away. It would do no good to indulge any wayward thoughts. There was a routine to their days now. A stark simplicity. Sometimes he didn’t even see Sheppard, and if he did, they spoke, sometimes they ate together, but Rodney was very careful to keep his interactions polite and circumspect. There was no need for anything more and…and Rodney didn’t want to get his hopes up. Ever. Ever again. Not like he’d been hopeful when they courted. Not like he’d been hopeful the day of their wedding.

Sometimes, late at night (or god forbid even during the day) he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of their wedding day. He would cringe when he remembered how excited he’d felt. How special. It had been foolish and frivolous and everything he told himself he never wanted. At one point during the ceremony, Sheppard had smiled at Rodney, and the feeling it elicited had been like the first time he’d accidentally ignited some flash powder in one of his labs. Fast, hot and bright.

But, Rodney tried not to think about it, because on the heels of those memories always came others. Memories of him waiting in his bed chambers on his wedding night, excited, tentative and nervous. Waiting for Sheppard.

Who never came.

Who actually ended up being gone for two weeks, and Rodney never knew why. After that, Rodney had reigned his feelings (such as they were) in and was always careful, measured and prudent. There was no reason to be overly emotional or affectionate and it was safer to keep everything cordial, but superficial. 

Sheppard crossed the room, moving toward Rodney. Why did he have to come so close? He was always standing so close to Rodney. Rodney couldn’t help but sit back in his chair a bit as Sheppard approached and stood close to Rodney’s desk. Sheppard’s smile faltered and Rodney watched as it fell a bit, and then came back again, seeming a bit forced. Or maybe it had never been real at all.

Smile firmly back in place, Sheppard’s charm was once again out in full force. “What are you working on?” he asked, tipping his head slightly toward the papers on the desk.

Rodney was grateful he’d gotten used to working on his cypher work at home and often had more than one thing on his desk. If Sheppard saw his work for the Falcon… well, he likely wouldn’t understand it anyway. It was high-level cryptography and involved several mathematical concepts. Sheppard would have no interest. If it were based, perhaps, on the latest silks or the newest cigars just imported, maybe then it would catch his eye. Sheppard was perpetually surrounded by the elite of the _ton_ \- the fops, the fancies, the lords and ladies, discussing who had been seen with whom, who was wearing what and the latest entertainment. Rodney doubted he’d have any interest at all in the cyphers even if Rodney accidentally left them out.

“Lecture notes,” Rodney answered truthfully.

“Lecture on what?” Sheppard leaned his hip against Rodney’s desk and Rodney glanced down at it, somewhat confused and then back up at Sheppard who seemed impossibly close at the moment. How dare a man have eyes that color? It was unnatural.

“Spectroscopic observations on interstellar nova,” Rodney answered. There. That ought to end the conversation quite neatly.

“Is that what you’re looking at when you look through telescope all night?”

How on earth would Sheppard have any idea, any notion at all what Rodney did with his nights? “I beg your pardon?”

Sheppard waved his hand. “When you’re in that little shed outside. With your polished glass.”

“If by ‘little shed’ you mean the completely freestanding building that butts onto the estate, and by polished glass you mean my highly calibrated and extremely sensitive telescopic lenses, then yes. That is what I am looking at.”

“See anything good?”

“Yes, which is why I’m giving a lecture on it.”

“It’s your lecture?” Sheppard asked, leaning forward a bit more into Rodney’s space and then he raised a leg and sat partially on the corner of the desk. The corner of the desk! This was where Rodney worked! Rodney exhaled sharply and regretted it on his next inhale when he caught the scent of the Marquis, standing as close as he was. He had the slight scent of oak and cologne on him and Rodney absolutely did not have a sense memory to when he first noticed it. He resolutely did not think back to when everything seemed exciting and new and seeing Sheppard would make his stomach tingle in the most interesting way. Looking back, Rodney was sure he imagined it all. Or had it had been indigestion.

“Yes, it’s my lecture.”

“When?”

“Pardon me?” Rodney asked again.

“Your lecture, when is it?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

Sheppard raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for more details.

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Two in the afternoon, at the lyceum.”

Sheppard had a slightly smug expression on his face. “I’ll be there.”

Rodney picked up his papers and tapped the bottom edge of them on the desk to neaten them. “It’s sold out.” He might have preened a little at the statement. He had been quite proud to learn all the tickets had been sold and may have, perhaps, slightly, most definitely crowed about it to Radek, who’s own lecture on radiography was close, but not yet completely full.

“Surely, as the speaker of the event, you can secure me a ticket?”

Rodney paused. “It’s a simple matter of physics. There are no more seats.”

Sheppard smiled. “I don’t mind standing.”

“It’s fire hazard to have the room at a greater capacity than for which it is rated.”

Still perched on the edge Sheppard shrugged one shoulder. “I know the Fire Marshall. Caldwell. Good man. I’ll send him some cigars.”

“Cigars. For the Fire Marshall.”

Sheppard’s grin showed his perfect teeth. Honestly, who in the world had such perfectly straight and white teeth? The damned Marquis, that’s who.

“He’ll probably appreciate the irony.”

“I doubt you will understand enough, if any, astrophysics to follow along. You’ll be bored.”

“Not if you’re speaking, I won’t.”

Why? Why did he have to be so charming? Why did he have to sit there with his foppish hair and oak scent and stupid grin and make Rodney want things he couldn’t have? Why did he continue to act like he liked Rodney, like he was interested in Rodney and then disappear for days at a time, often not spending the night at home, talking and laughing with the attractive members of the _ton_ , the elite. Why had he ever looked Rodney’s way? Rodney felt his heart constrict and he hated both the Marquis and himself in that moment. The Marquis for acting interested in Rodney, and himself for wanting to believe it. For hoping, even if it was small, brittle hope in the back of his heart, that it might be true.

Maybe Rodney had been wrong all those times he said the Marquis wasn’t a cruel man. Maybe he was. Maybe he was the cruelest man Rodney had ever known.

The smile fell off Sheppard’s face and Rodney was afraid. Afraid everything he was feeling was written all over his countenance. Jeannie had always told Rodney his face was like a children’s book with wide open pages and an overly large font. Sheppard licked his lips, a troubled expression coloring his features. Rodney was suddenly very afraid of what he might say. What he might do.

Either of them. Or both.

“Rodney, I-”

Rodney swallowed and pushed his chair back, making a show of checking his pocket watch. “Speaking of my little shed and polished glass, it’s nearly time for some of my observations. I must take your leave.”

Sheppard pushed his hip off Rodney’s desk as Rodney stood. “Maybe I’ll join you. I’ll ask cook to make some coffee. You can get me up to speed before your lecture.”

Rodney opened his mouth to say something, anything, he wasn’t sure what. Something that would dissuade the Marquis from even considering joining Rodney. For what purpose? More torment?

Just then, the study door opened and Lorne leaned in. “Sir, an invitation from Lord Woolsey has just arrived. He wishes for you to join him immediately for cigars at the club.”

John frowned and he looked from Lorne, to Rodney and then Lorne again. Rodney gathered his notebooks and stepped away from the desk.

“Just in time, Mr. Lorne. The Marquis was almost forced into an evening of tedious science. You’ve no doubt saved him from a horrid evening of star luminosity and spectra.”

Lorne looked like he just got caught between two pushy mamas of the _ton_ \- a little wild eyed and unsure of what to do. “Uh…”

“Excuse me, I’ve work to do. Good evening to you both. Sheppard,” Rodney said, nodding brusquely at the Marquis, and then, “Mr. Lorne,” as he began to approach the doorway. Lorne took an awkward step to the side, getting out of Rodney’s way.

“I look forward to your lecture,” Sheppard called after Rodney.

Rodney paused and turned back, unable to keep his fingers from nervously fiddling with the edge of his notebook. He didn’t know what to say to Sheppard. He managed only a weak smile before he left.

#

Rodney was never nervous or anxious before a lecture. He was brilliant. He knew it and he knew others knew it. He preferred to have notes with him only so he didn’t forget any major points for lecture. But he rarely, if ever, used them. They were scribbles to himself in his personal clipped short-hand. Likely as indecipherable to anyone else as the encryptions made from his cypher disks.

He felt out of sorts today and wasn’t sure why. He knew his topic. He had his notes. Radek was just finishing up his own lecture on radiography and Rodney worked to push his own nervousness aside and pay attention. He was quite interested in the topic and Radek was tolerably brilliant as well. Not as brilliant as Rodney, but he had a sharp and quick mind. Radek spoke his final words and then gave a short bow, uttering thanks to the crowd. Rodney clapped along with the other attendees as Radek stepped away from the podium and made his way to where Rodney sat a couple rows back. Other scientists stopped to give Radek congratulations or to make comments on his lecture and Rodney used the extra time to pat his pocket once more for his notes and then to glance around at the attendees.

People were shuffling about - some leaving after Radek’s presentation and others entering the lecture hall. It was difficult to pick out any one person - Radek had drawn quite a crowd - a near sell-out. Rodney had inquired earlier if tickets to his own lecture will still sold out, purely for his own curiosity (no other reason) and had been informed that yes, they were. Purely for scientific interest, Rodney had asked if it were at all possible for a person without a ticket to enter. The somewhat confused young page monitoring the door seemed at a loss for an answer. Without waiting for one, Rodney waved a hand at him and had entered to get a seat before Radek’s lecture.

It was of little consequence. Rodney had given many lectures - before and after his marriage. This was just another one and the audience did not matter. Well, it mattered in that he wanted people there, but the individual members of the audience were irrelevant.

Completely irrelevant.

So he didn’t know what (or who, his traitorous mind whispered) he was looking for while Radek made his way over to were Rodney stood in the aisle. No one. Just general interest to see who was in attendance.

“Congratulations,” Rodney said to Radek, holding his hand out for a firm shake. “It was quite good.”

“A compliment from the Marchioner McKay-Sheppard. I shall not recover,” Radek responded with a glint in his eye. “Whom are you looking for?” he asked as Rodney’s roamed the lecture hall once more.

“No one,” Rodney replied. It was foolish to look for Sheppard. Foolish and senseless. Sheppard wouldn’t attend. He didn’t have a ticket and this was an academic lecture. Perhaps if Rodney were presenting at a wine tasting or a silk showing, he might show up. But not for a full hour on astronomy. Something small and timid inside him that had been deluded enough to poke its head out of Rodney’s psyche when Sheppard had said he would attend Rodney’s lecture curled up on itself and turned its face away from the sun again.

It did not matter. Rodney was here to present on his topic and the room was full of his colleagues. People who understood (to the best of their abilities) his work, and would benefit from his lecture. Rodney straightened, seeing people taking their seats having either just arrived from the short journey from another lecture hall to this one or from a short stretch of their legs after Radek’s presentation.

“If you tell me who you are looking for, I will keep my eyes on a look out for them.”

Rodney quirked his lips in what he hoped was an approximation of a smile. “I’m not looking for anyone. I was merely casting about to see who was here.”

Radek looked at Rodney from overtop of his small spectacles and made a low ‘hmmm’ sound. Rodney rolled his eyes. “Keep your Bohemian opinions to yourself.”

“I have said nothing!” protested Radek.

“Keep it that way.” Over Radek’s shoulder, Rodney could see the organizer motioning him up to the podium. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Yes, yes, good luck.”

“Fortunately, I have science on my side and do not need luck,” Rodney said, moving away from Radek. He took a moment once at the podium to place his cards on the small wooden top, and then picked them up again, feeling the need to touch them as though they were some sort of security blanket. The timekeeper caught his eye, and flashed the cards he would hold up at the appropriate time - 30 minutes, 15 minutes, 10, 5 and finally just a simple one marked ‘end.’ This wasn’t Rodney’s first lecture and none of this was new, but he liked the routine of it. It was familiar. Safe.

The head of the astronomy department introduced Rodney as Marchioner Sheppard, not McKay-Sheppard, and Rodney ground his teeth. Sometimes he wondered if marrying Sheppard was the worst mistake of his career. Or his life. Rodney couldn’t stop his eyes from looking around the large lecture hall once more time, noting who was there - Radek of course, Kavanaugh (that rat bastard who was a pseudo-scientist at best - alchemy! Honestly, it was embarrassing), oh and there was Emissary Emmagan. Rodney had no idea she was interested in astronomy. She caught Rodney’s eyes and smiled at him, with a brief head tilt. Rodney quirked his lips in return. He saw several other scientists he was familiar with, and some he looked forward to verbally sparring with, and a few of the social elite who no doubt had no interest in astronomy but were only there to see and be seen. But there was no sign of any fops of dark, unruly hair with irreverent cowlicks sticking up in all directions despite a very fine dedication to hair wax.

His introduction over, Rodney took his place at the podium and began. While he never felt totally comfortable in social situations, he had no fear of public speaking - he knew he was smart and that his work was impeccable. He was careful in his measurements and backed up all his hypothesis with ample evidence. He also thought he had somewhat of a creative flair for science. He was able to make connections between seemingly unrelated items and bring them together into grand theories. Many years ago, a piano teacher lamented his lack of passion for music, and those words stung - their sharp edges carving their way into his heart. But over the years, the thorns of that comment had been exorcised by his passion for science, his achievements in the same, and the respect of his peers. He may not be the most liked, but he wasn’t trying to win a popularity contest. He was there to work and be right. And he was able to do that in a multitude of disciplines.

Except for botany and biology but those were fringe sciences at best. Really. Plants? Hardly worth his time.

The time-keeper raised the cards at the necessary times and Rodney’s lecture came to an end, just as the final card was about to be raised. Rodney timed his lectures precisely and was never over. He answered a few questions, clarifying some points and offering to share his research with a particularly enthusiastic group of young scientists who vibrated in their seats with excitement. As a final note, he indicated his work was already accepted into next years Asgardian Annual, which listed only the best discoveries of the year.

While he didn’t need the applause from the crowd, it did make him warm and happy - one of the only things that did in his life. He took a quick bow and left the podium, meeting Radek who had already risen from his seat.

“Wonderful lecture,” Radek said with easy praise. “I look forward to reading the full details in the AA next year. You managed to keep that little tidbit to yourself.” Radek raised an eyebrow at him.

Rodney grinned. “I only heard back yesterday, but yes. The AA accepted my article.”

“Marchioner Sheppard.”

“McKay-Sheppard,” Rodney responded automatically, turning toward the voice. A man he didn’t recognize approached where he and Radek stood, holding out his hand for a greeting. Rodney took it automatically, shaking it firmly.

“You are?” Rodney asked. A quick glance of his eyes toward Radek showed the Bohemian had gone stiff in the shoulders, his expression grim.

“Ladon Radim,” the man said easily, seemingly expecting Rodney to know who he was by his name.

Rodney shrugged one shoulder slightly. “Are you a scientist newly arrived in Atlantis?” Rodney knew all the scientists currently in Atlantis, not necessarily by sight, but certainly by name, and most certainly by their recent published papers.

Radim smiled and Rodney disliked something about it. He wasn’t always adept at social queues and in fact struggled as a child to make friends, until he realized it was all like many small observations tethered together and he just had to ingest enough data. Watch people’s eyes, watch their mouths, watch their bodies, learn how to put it all together code and then practice. He still had to consciously do it; it didn’t happen automatically for him, but he’d gotten rather good at it. Something about Radim’s expressions were off. As though he himself had studied mannerisms and hadn’t quite learned this one.

“Envoy to the Genii, assistant to Ambassador Kolya,” Radek said curtly and Rodney felt a shiver across the back of his shoulders that travelled down and settled at the base of his spine.

“I was not aware that the Genii were attending any of the lectures today,” Rodney said flatly. “Don’t you have your own scientists? Touted by your government as the best in the world? Oh,” Rodney added, huffing slightly, “but they probably aren’t rather happy to give lectures while their being brutally subjugated.”

Radek swore in Czech next to him and coughed slightly. Radim’s smile became more tight, more brittle.

“Not all the gossip that circles around Atlantis is true, Marchioner. It’s quite unfortunate for my country when such obscene lies are spoken of so casually.”

“I’m not generally a fan of proverbs; linguistics is not one of the sciences I follow closely. But I believe the saying is, ‘where there’s smoke, there’s fire.’” Rodney set his lips in a firm line, not breaking eye contact with Radim even as he felt the anxiety pour off Radek.

Radim paused, not blinking. “You study most of the branches of science, though, don’t you? Nearly all the the formal and natural sciences.”

“It’s true,” agreed Rodney. “The only ones I have no use for are the social sciences, if they can be called such. I leave that work to others. You attended my lecture today, so I can only assume you have an interest in astronomy.”

Again, when Radim smiled, it wasn’t quite right. A study of a smile that had gone somewhat wrong. “Among other things. I was looking forward to hearing you speak, Marchioner and reporting back to the Ambassador. You’re known as one of the most brilliant minds in Atlantis.”

“One of?” Rodney parroted. “Who are they saying are the others?” Radek poked him in the side, none too subtly, with his elbow and Rodney held back a grunt. “Yes, I suppose I am,” he amended.

“It’s not just astronomy that you study and write papers for, however,” Radim continued. “I hear you also do fine work in physics, dabble in chemistry and even have authored a paper on geology.”

That damn paper on geology would haunt him forever. “I have been known to work on many things.”

“You’re a student of mathematics as well.”

Rodney frowned, not liking the way Radim’s tone shifted. Radek moved slightly closer to Rodney, as though his presence would offer some protection.

“As are many scientists in Atlantis,” broke in Radek, his eyes shifting between Radim and Rodney. Rodney wasn’t sure exactly what message his expression was meant to convey.

“But surely Marchioner Sheppard, pardon me, McKay-Sheppard, would be considered the foremost authority on most, if not all, disciplines, including mathematics.”

“Emissary Emmagan,” Radek said, and both Rodney and Radim turned to see her approaching them, a somewhat severe look on her face. “It is good to see you again.”

“As it is to see you, Hrabě Zelenka.” She paused and made eye contact with Rodney. “Marchioner McKay-Sheppard.” Rodney bowed slightly. She gave another pause and then she faced Radim. “Envoy Radim.”

If Radim had looked displeased before, he looked even more-so now. “Emissary Emmagan.”

“I hope I am not interrupting,” she said smoothly and with such a tone that Rodney was sure she knew very well she was interrupting and had intended to do so and dared anyone to mention it. “I wished to offer my congratulations to the Marchioner on a fine lecture. I was quite fascinated and look forward to reading the article when it is published.”

“Thank you,” Rodney said, offering her another slight bow.

“I was just inquiring of the Marchioner if he is considered the authority on mathematics in Atlantis, or if not, to whom should I direct my queries?” asked Radim.

“Surely before he or I could answer that, we would need to know what your queries are,” responded Teyla.

Radim paused, a muscle in his jaw moving slightly as though he had clenched his teeth. “My understanding is there are potential advancements to be explored or perhaps already employed by using mathematics in the field of cryptography.”

Rodney was grateful Teyla appeared able to hold Radim’s attention on her simply by the intensity of her gaze, for he was certain in that moment he had given nearly everything away by his expression. He felt Radek’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, and had the oddest flash across his brain of an image of Sheppard and the keen, cutting-edge thought that he wished Sheppard were here, with his easy grace and charming smile. He would likely be able to turn Radim’s words into nonsense, and then change the conversation easily over to the latest gossip of Atlantis.

But he wasn’t there. It was only Rodney, Radek and Teyla. Rodney composed himself, straightening his shoulders slightly, feeling Radek’s hand fall away.

“I suppose there might be, but with my current work, which you’ve heard today, I hardly have time to pursue something that would likely be quite complex and would take years to develop. Nor do I know of anyone else in Atlantis working on such a thing.”

Radim turned his pale eyes on Rodney. “Surely a man of your intellect and wealth is overly burdened with time and must work on many things to fill such long hours.”

“My hours are quite full with my astronomy work,” Rodney said stiffly.

Radim’s eyes were like sharp lasers. “Really? I wouldn’t have thought it would be enough for a man of your intellect who needs quite a lot of hours to be filled since you do not seem to accompany your husband to his many social outings.”

Rodney wasn’t sure if it was Teyla or Radek that gasped. Likely Radek. Teyla merely raised an eyebrow. 

“Well,” Rodney said, keeping his voice low and even. “You seem to know quite a bit about me, Envoy.”

“We Genii like to know as much as we can about our neighbors. It helps foster a good and stable political working relationship, don’t you think?”

“Politics is a social science, and, I believe I mentioned, I do not pursue those.”

Radim didn’t say anything, but merely stood there and stared at Rodney. It was quite uncomfortable and Rodney found himself shifting slightly on his feet.

“Marchioner, Hrabě, it is nearly time for our tea appointment and we do not wish to be late,” Teyla said, stepping closer to Rodney and placing a soft hand on his arm.

“Yes!” exclaimed Radek, quite suddenly and loudly. “I am quite parched.”

Teyla turned to Radim. “Envoy, please excuse us.”

Radim wore another tight smile, “Of course, Emissary Emmagan. I’m sure if I have further questions, I know _exactly_ where to find the Marchioner.”

Rodney swallowed and let Teyla lead him and Radek away, hoping his face wasn’t expressing exactly how he felt about that statement.


	3. Chapter 3

While Rodney wasn’t completely immersed in all the subterfuge and subtleties necessary to survive in the world of secret agents and clandestine works against enemy governments, he rather thought he was good at interpreting the rules as they arose, and figuring things out as he went along

All that to say, he was still completely surprised when he and Radek ended up in a tea house with Emissary Emmagan only minutes after leaving the lecture hall. He’d understood it was some kind of a ploy or falsehood to get them away from Envoy Radim, but he hadn’t expected Teyla to so masterfully direct them through the crowd, right into her carriage and then have them dropped off at one of the most famous and popular tea houses in all of Atlantis.

“This is the Ancestor’s Eye,” Radek said, mouth dropping open a bit with awe. “You must put in a reservation months in advance.”

“I keep a table here on reserve,” Teyla replied, her footman assisting her in stepping out of her carriage. She swept past Rodney and Radek and up the grand stairs to the main door.

While Radek seemed still agog, Rodney had no such issues and followed closely behind Teyla. “Do they serve sandwiches with the tea?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered easily.

“Because I’m rather famished and was planning on an early dinner after my lecture, but I’m here now, and I-”

“We will order food,” Teyla said evenly.

Minutes later, the three of them were seated at a small table already sipping tea with the promise of sandwiches on the way.

“Now,” said Teyla, setting her tea cup down with barely an audible clink. “What was Envoy Radim discussing with you before I arrived?”

Radek and Rodney exchanged a quick look and then Rodney turned back to Teyla and shrugged. “You heard most of the conversation.”

“Yes,” interrupted Radek, “some nonsense about the Marchioner being the smartest scientist in Atlantis.”

“I _am_ the smartest scientist in Atlantis,” countered Rodney, leveling Radek with a look.

“Perhaps, but-”

“Perhaps?” Rodney echoed.

“At certain times in one’s life it is not always wise to bring attention to oneself, nor to one’s accomplishments!” Radek hissed.

Understanding what Radek was trying to imply, Rodney was somewhat mollified. “Yes, well. That may be true.”

“Gentlemen,” Teyla said, her voice soft and low. “It may be reasonable to assume the Genii are aware of Rodney’s work for us.”

Radek sputtered, mouth opening and closing like a fish, and Rodney went quite still.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Emissary,” Rodney said, managing to speak when Radek did not.

“Of course we should careful discussing such things in public,” she continued meaningfully, her eyes flickering around the room. “For the ears of the Genii are quite well attuned to the whisperings of Atlantis.” She took another sip of her tea and met Rodney’s gaze directly. “Burt, I am quite concerned the Genii felt so comfortable as to approach you in public. Tell me exactly what he said before I arrived.”

Rodney paused for a moment, briefly considering if he could or should trust Teyla, before deciding quite whole-heartedly that he could. She had been in Atlantis for many years, and was quite well known and respected by all citizens as a tireless advocate for justice, and was very involved in all kinds of charitable and worthy causes. It made sense she would be involved with the Falcon’s work. Additionally, Rodney liked her, and he didn’t like very many people. “As I said, there’s nothing much more. You were there for the majority of the conversation.”

Teyla made a quiet ‘hmm’ sound. “I do not like such boldness from them. Approaching you in a public place and making statements is quite arrogant. I am concerned they are becoming reactionary. We’ve heard their government is pursuing stricter measures and escalating their research into even more potentially dangerous technology.”

Rodney swallowed, his mouth feeing rather dry despite the tea he’d been drinking.

“Have you had any luck with the latest materials we provided to you?” Teyla asked and it took Rodney a moment to realize she meant the last bunch of communiques he’d gotten from Radek just the other day. He shook his head.

“No, not yet. I’m working on them right now. They are using a new method from the last set I worked on. I can decipher it, but it is taking more time.”

“You are at home alone quite often, are you not?”

He bristled, feeling the same swoop in his stomach that had manifested when the Genii Envoy said something similar. “Yes,” he answered tightly.

Teyla nodded, his reply clearly not new to her and he felt his face go hot. “We should speak to John about bringing someone additional into your household.”

“All right?” Rodney said, his words pitching up at the end with his confusion.

“For security,” Teyla amended and then she leaned slightly forward and seemed to give him a meaningful look. Rodney wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond so he merely nodded. She seemed satisfied and leaned back straightening the folds of her skirt and then looking past Rodney, over his shoulder. “I see Lady Weir has arrived and I wish to inform her of this recent incident with the Genii.” She gathered her reticule and stood, and both Rodney and Radek hustled to their feet to stand at the same time.

“But the sandwiches?” Rodney asked. They were at the Emissary’s table and he wasn’t sure if they could stay and eat without her.

Teyla had a fond look on her face. “Yes, Marchioner, you may stay at my table and finish your tea. Please stay safe, both of you. Let us know if there are any other incidents of which we are not aware.”

Rodney wasn’t sure to whom ‘us’ and ‘we’ was meant to refer, but he nodded and then nudged Radek with his elbow until he nodded as well.

“Good day, gentlemen.”

They murmured their goodbyes before Rodney was distracted by the tray of small sandwiches being set down in front of him. He sat down quickly and helped himself.

“You will inform the Marquis as Emissary Emmagan recommended, no?”

“For what?” Rodney said, talking around a full triangle he’d popped into his mouth.

“For the Marquis to bring someone else into the house, so you are not so alone all the time.”

“I’m not alone all the time. Horatio is there. The cook, the housemaids, the footmen.”

“Yes, all fine people, but it would be good to have someone there in case the Genii get ideas.”

Rodney swallowed, mouth feeling a little dry. “You don’t think they actually suspect me of anything, do you?”

Radek pushed his glasses up a bit on his nose, leaning in. “I do not know, but it is best to be cautious, no?”

Rodney washed down the bread with some tea. “I suppose.”

“So you will speak to the Marquis? If he is not there, it would be good to have someone else in the house.”

Rodney snorted. “You make it sound like provides a modicum of safety on the rare occasions he is at home.” Rodney selected another small sandwich triangle and took a large bite.

“He was in the military, was he not? Surely he must have some skills, or received some training?”

Rodney snorted again (he couldn’t help it!) and worried he might choke on his bread. He chewed and swallowed hastily, cleaning his throat a bit. “I am sure his father purchased his commission. I can’t fathom, at all, that Sheppard has ever done anything more strenuous than try to tame that ridiculous hair, and he’s rather unsuccessful at that. It’s far too thick. Unruly and soft.”

“It sounds like you know rather a lot about his hair,” Radek smirked, helping himself to his own serving of tea sandwiches.

“I’ve got eyes, Radek. It’s hard not to notice how… floofy it is.”

“Floofy,” Radek repeated.

“Do not start with me, you insufferable Bohemian, or I shall not review your latest physics paper as you requested.”

“No, don’t, please, stop,” Radek deadpanned. He finished his bite and then took his own sip of tea. “I will say no more on it, as long as you assure me you will speak to the Marquis about someone else coming to your residence when you arrive home.”

“And tell him it’s for what?” Rodney asked, _sotto voce_. “I can hardly tell him it’s because I think the Genii threatened me in a rather vague manner. What reason would they have to discuss anything to do with me?”

“Perhaps you should tell the Marquis the truth.”

Rodney’s eyes widened. “Has it finally happened? You’ve gone mad inhaling strange fumes from that death trap you call a lab?”

“I am serious. The Marquis has many friends and much influence. Perhaps he knows someway to help.”

“The only thing Sheppard knows is how to pick the best silk color to set off his absurd eyes.”

“I am serious.”

“So am I.”

Radek exhaled strongly, his nostrils flaring. “He seems a good man. He would help us. You for certain.”

“Why me for certain?”

“Because he is your husband?” Radek’s words cut with sarcasm.

It was on Rodney’s tongue to note that it was a marriage of paper only, but one did not speak of such things in public. He waved a hand dismissively. “He has far too many other things to worry him. The latest cigars imported from Athos, the most recent gossip of the _ton_ that suggests muslin is the next rage.”

“He will listen to you,” Radek said confidently.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Perhaps you have not seen the way he watches you, but I have.” Radek poured himself another helping of tea and gestured with the pot toward Rodney’s cup but Rodney could only stare at him dumbly.

“What are you talking about?”

“The Marquis. He watches you.”

Rodney scoffed. “He does not.”

“He does,” Radek affirmed. “He takes a great interest in you when you are speaking.”

“Well, he certainly didn’t take one today,” Rodney muttered.

“Is that for whom you were looking?” Radek asked gently.

“No,” Rodney lied firmly. Radek watched him for a moment longer and then seemed to nod knowingly.

“Well, be that as it may, you should speak to the Marquis as Emissary Emmagan suggested. I am sure he will oblige you and I will feel better for it.”

Rodney pushed back from the table slightly, no longer interested in the tea and sandwiches. “I will think about it.”

#

Radek and Rodney parted ways at the tea house, each hiring carriages to take them back to their respective homes. Rodney thought about what Radek (and Teyla) had said to him - not about Sheppard watching him when he spoke - that was ridiculous. Rodney would have noticed if that were the case. No, he thought about both of them insisting he mention the conversation with Envoy Radim today. Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible idea. He knew the Genii were aware their codes were being broken (he had correspondence to prove it). There was no telling what desperation may make them do. Maybe the Genii were looking at all the scientists in Atlantis to determine who could crack their cyphers. Maybe the Genii had gotten their hands on some of the Falcon’s communiques as well and found the cypher unbreakable (for surely if they had read it, they had not cracked it - Rodney’s code was far too good for them to be able to). They may very well have realized Rodney was one of the few, if not the only, scientist in Atlantis that could pull that off.

If they suspected him, he was in danger. By the time the hired carriage arrived home, he’d worked himself into quite a state and determined that yes, he would at least speak to Sheppard about bringing someone extra into the house for security. He wouldn’t have to tell Sheppard about his work for the Falcon. He could merely say he’d recently gotten into another branch of science, one that could be lucrative or dangerous, and he was starting to hear rumblings that others were far too interested in his research. That could work. Sheppard seemed moderately intelligent, but could be easily swayed, Rodney thought. During the time Sheppard had courted him, he _had_ appeared intelligent. He had thoughtful comments to say to Rodney about new studies and breakthroughs, he’d had insightful things to offer to a conversation…. But then they’d gotten married and it all… fell apart. So quickly.

The swaying carriage was like a metronome, lulling him and his thoughts and their courtship and then wedding night, times he wished weren’t seared into his memory, came to the forefront of his mind and he let it wash over him.

#

***

#

The entire courtship was a whirlwind ride. They met at a ball, one held by Emissary Emmagan. Rodney had been arguing with Kavanaugh on some ridiculous theory the man had on entropy when Sheppard had approached and asked him to dance. Rodney quickly refused, being in the middle of an argument and wanting to win, but Sheppard simply waited until Rodney was done eviscerating Kavanaugh and then asked again. Rodney hadn’t a reason to say no twice, so he simply set his glass down and resigned himself to the fact that he’d suffer through a dance. It wasn’t _that_ much of a hardship, he told himself. Sheppard was quite fine looking and definitely caught Rodney’s eye - his dark hair, his bright eyes, the way his finely cut suit had clung to his lean frame. But he was hardly the sort of person that would take a serious interest in Rodney. And that was fine. Rodney held no illusions of the type of match he may make in his lifetime. He had a sharp mind and a sharper tongue and while he had a comfortable amount of money, he certainly wasn’t rich. He expected he would eventually find a similarly minded person, perhaps one in his field who could assist him with his work, settle down, perhaps have a few children to carry on his legacy, and that would be that.

They danced. Though he held no fanciful illusions of romance, it was hard not to be caught up in the moment. Rodney had always prided himself on his mind, his adherence to science and tangible concepts. But even he had to admit dancing with Sheppard was… something. The heat of his body in such close proximity to Rodney’s. The feel of his gaze, which never wavered from Rodney’s face. He asked exactly what Rodney and Kavanaugh had been discussing and not seeing a reason to hold back, he launched into a thorough discussion on entropy and why Kavanaugh was incorrect. At one point, after a particularly detailed portion of the topic, they had to separate for part of the dance, and when they’d come back together, Sheppard asked a question which made Rodney realize he’d forgotten a key element of the scientific principles (it was hot! He was dancing! He could hardly be expected to recall all of entropy on the spot!) and Rodney became aware that Sheppard was actually paying attention to and ingesting everything Rodney was saying.

Afterward, Teyla asked if he’d enjoyed his dance with the Marquis and Rodney had shrugged, not thinking much of it. It was a one-time event likely to never occur again. Men of the Marquis social standing and looks did not move in the same circles as Rodney and his scientist peers. Rodney said he enjoyed the dance and then pushed the thought out of his mind.

But Sheppard called on him the next day, and the day after that. He seemed to take an interest in Rodney’s work and listened for hours as Rodney explained the many things he was working on. Rodney was charmed and flattered. After Rodney had bemoaned the lack of a special glass he needed for a telescopic lens in Atlantis, Sheppard procured it. Rodney had no idea how Sheppard managed to find or purchase the speciality item - he’d been searching for weeks. Sheppard smiled and shrugged, saying he had a knack for that sort of thing and Rodney had been… well, smitten.

Sheppard seemed to be interested in Rodney. He seemed _to_ _like_ Rodney.

But then, just as quickly as he started calling on Rodney, he was suddenly gone. Rodney told himself he couldn’t possibly have gotten used to seeing Sheppard every day in such a short time, but he had. And then… nothing. No word. No letters. No one seemed to know if Sheppard left town, or was still in Atlantis, maybe sequestered in his home. Rodney tried to ask at some social events, but no one seemed concerned as it was well known the more elite of the _ton_ often went abroad on travel or shopping trips.

Rodney was disappointed, but reminded himself that no promises had been made. Likely the Marquis had found him intriguing for a while and then had not any longer. A simple equation. A man of Sheppard’s means probably tore through relationships like fine Japanese paper - quickly and easily rendered in half, without much force. If what they had could even be called a relationship. Sheppard had paid attention to Rodney for a while, brought him a present, and then stopped.

That was that.

At scientific convention the following night, Rodney was seated next to Lady Katherine Brown, and since he enjoyed her company, he thought he might call on her sometime. She seemed amiable enough, and he perhaps it was time to consider getting married. It was irrelevant if when he went to bed at night he thought of Sheppard’s dark hair and enigmatic eyes. He’d been silly to consider a man like Sheppard when that would surely lead to nothing. He should resolve his personal life and then settle down and focus on his science. He called on Katherine and she agreed to take a turn through the park with him. It had been blandly nice, he supposed. It didn’t matter that he didn’t feel a thrill in his stomach and down his spine when he saw her. It didn’t matter that she was a botanist and he had no interest in plants. He would call on her again. If he could be married and done with his social life, it would no longer be a distraction to the time he wanted to devote to his work.

But, then Sheppard was back and he called on Rodney again. He gave no reason for his absence and Rodney did not ask. As before, he was charming and attentive and something about being the focus of his attention made Rodney’s brain, normally a very sturdy and reliable instrument, spin and swirl. Much to Rodney’s surprise, Sheppard asked Rodney to marry him and even more to Rodney’s surprise, Rodney agreed.

To marry. Sheppard.

It all happened so quickly. From Rodney’s limited knowledge, weddings took a while to plan and execute, but nary another fortnight passed and Rodney found himself in his finest suit, next to Sheppard, also in his finest suit, repeating vows and then kissed soundly, on the lips, by Sheppard.

It had rendered Rodney speechless for the first time in his life.

They retired to Sheppard’s townhouse in Atlantis and had the best meal Rodney could recall ever having eaten. The large dining room was full with people who’d attended the wedding, most of whom were the elite of Atlantis - Sheppard’s guests, not Rodney’s. Rodney recognized everyone, but had no idea how anyone had been invited - that had all been left to Emissary Emmagan who had serenely offered to manage the guest list. Rodney spent the evening seated next to Sheppard, trying not to flush profusely at the heated looks his new husband bestowed upon him.

Or at least, he thought they’d been heated looks. There was wine, and although the food had been delicious, Rodney had very little to eat, accounting on his nerves for his upcoming wedding night. He had no personal experience of an intimate night, but thought he knew most of what to expect. When it boiled down, it was all just science and bodily mechanics. He kept reminding himself there was no reason to be so nervous. It would be impossible to screw it up, no matter what his brain kept whispering in his ear. It would be unlikely to go horridly wrong, and there was certainly no danger of making of a fool of himself, or embarrassing himself so wretchedly that he would never be able to look Sheppard in the eye again.

Right?

His nerves were ridiculous and he would be fine.

Some time after the dessert was served, Sheppard was called away by his valet, Lorne, and Rodney took the opportunity to excuse himself, setting off an abundance of knowing winks and what he supposed were meant to be well-meaning leers from his guests. A house servant escorted Rodney upstairs of the townhouse, Rodney’s townhouse now, he supposed, and led him to a set of rooms which Rodney was informed had been especially set aside for him. There, the servant had left Rodney alone, and he had waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Sheppard never came.

Rodney fell asleep sometime in the late night or early morning, he wasn’t sure. He’d not even taken his wedding suit off. He’d been too nervous to disrobe and in a foolish notion that now caused his gut to churn, he’d decided to wait for Sheppard to undress him. Only Sheppard never arrived and Rodney ended up passing his wedding night asleep on top of the covers, still in his suit - jacket, cravat and all.

The morning sun on his face awoke him and he had a long, stretched out moment of confusion and uncertainty before realization washed over him. Sheppard never arrived. Rodney had been cast aside on his wedding night. Hot anger surged through him, followed quickly by shame, embarrassment and self-consciousness. His first immediate thought was to storm out of the room, find his husband and give him a piece of his mind, perhaps even his fist. But then, even as Rodney had stormed to the door, ready to pull the handle and yank it open, self-doubt crept along his spine. While he wasn’t overly social, and had only a small circle of friends, everyone who’d ever attended any ball at all in Atlantis had heard tales of unhappy marriages. Everyone had seen a cuckolded husband, or wife, or both. Everyone knew of marriages of convenience, marriages for fortunes, marriages forced upon the parties due to various circumstances such as business merges or scandal aversion.

Rodney had assumed, perhaps naively so, that his marriage was based on mutual fondness and attraction. He’d hoped it would grow into deep affection, and be supported by healthy amounts of lust and physical magnetism, but… what if he’d been wholly and completely wrong? What if it was only Rodney that felt those things for Sheppard and Sheppard didn’t feel those things in return?

Rodney paused, moved away from the door, and sat down clumsily on the bed. What evidence did he have that Sheppard was attracted to him? They shared a dance at a ball. Then Sheppard called on him several times and they’d conversed. Sheppard purchased him a token of his affections.

Then Sheppard had disappeared without a word.

He’d returned, and continued his courtship and offered for Rodney’s hand, but… had Rodney seen or felt any evidence of attraction? He thought he had. He thought that Sheppard looked at him a certain way, or smiled a certain way at Rodney when Rodney was speaking. Those smiles had made Rodney feel warm and special.

Sheppard smiled at a lot of people, now that Rodney thought about it. Had there been anything special about Sheppard’s smiles when directed at Rodney that wasn’t there when Sheppard smiled at his footman, or his tailor? Rodney didn’t know.

He was married to the man, and he didn’t know.

The sun rose higher and higher in the sky while Rodney sat on his bed, his lonely, solitary bed, in his wrinkled suit and tried to think of instances where Sheppard had clearly and explicitly shown that he was definitely and undeniably fond of and attracted to Rodney.

And Rodney couldn’t be sure.

A knock at the door startled him and he tried to speak, but found his voice too rough from disuse and sleep. Rodney cleared his throat as he stood up, forgetting that he was still in his complete wedding suit until he opened the door and the timid maid looked him up and down. He’d wanted to shrink back under her gaze but forced himself to stand straight. She informed him that the house servants were placed at his command and he only had to direct his orders to herself, or Horatio (who Rodney couldn’t have picked out of a police line up at the time) and the staff would see it done. 

He was somewhat speechless at her words and she studied him for a moment and then nodded once quickly to herself, as though satisfied he’d understood her words. As she turned to leave, he called out, making her pause.

“And… the Marquis?” he asked, hating the slight tremor in his voice. “Where might I find him?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, do not know. The butler indicates the Marquis left the house late last night and has not returned.”

 _Left_.

Left the _house_.

Rodney managed to nod while she turned her back and departed.

Left the house and had _not_ _returned_. Not only had the Marquis not come to Rodney’s room last night, he’d not gone to sleep in his own house at all. Rodney wasn’t quite sure how the rest of the morning, or most of the day passed. He had no recollection of it other than vague memories of his room, the walls, the drapery and the bed clothes.

By evening the day after his wedding, his rumbling stomach caused his head to swim with need of food and he managed to change, wash and redress, and take himself downstairs. He wandered through the unfamiliar house until he happened across a hapless maid and asked her where he might dine and she pointed helpfully toward the dining room. The staff seemed aflutter at his final and sudden arrival, and a gaggle of people were in the dining room with him suddenly, asking what he would like to eat, what he would prefer to drink, if his room required anything additional or if there was anything anyone could do for him. Horatio had stepped forward and introduced himself in his grave, deep tones, before shooing the lot of them away and indicating he would bring forth some wine with bread and cheese for Rodney to snack on while he contemplated a full dinner.

Sheppard did not return for five days. Five long, somber, somewhat dreary days. Rodney did not have any callers, nor correspondence, and he did not leave the house. Society assumed he was celebrating his honeymoon, and it seemed the lot of his friends, peers and colleagues were respectfully keeping their distance. All that meant Rodney was very, desperately, terribly lonely.

When Sheppard returned, it was to rather little fanfare. Rodney was taking his breakfast, in the dining room, which after five days was now a routine he was settling into, when Sheppard limped into the room. Rodney startled upon seeing him and Sheppard paused at the doorway, his expression a mystery. He opened his mouth as though to say something, and Rodney quite suddenly, inexplicably needed to cut him off. Rodney needed not to hear whatever it was Sheppard would say. Was he expecting the Marquis to speak of his regret in marrying Rodney? Was he expecting empty platitudes that would be mortifying to hear? Rodney wasn’t sure. All he knew was, in that moment, he had the sudden notion Sheppard would try to apologize or explain how he wasn’t really all that fond of or attracted to Rodney, and that his absence from the house was necessary so that they could avoid a horridly awkward and unnecessary marriage consummation. Rodney imagined Sheppard would try to stumble or fumble through some toe-curdling platitudes and he could feel the coffee he just drank rolling in his stomach as he thought about it. Rodney struck preemptively, speaking before the Marquis could.

“At my request, Horatio located your calendar and I have copied all your current appointments into a joint one. This morning we received an invitation to the Lady Weir’s summer solstice event, and seeing nothing already booked for that time in either of our calendars, I took the liberty of responding in the affirmative.”

Sheppard blinked twice and then limped over to the chair at the opposite end of the table, watching Rodney out of the side of his eye as he did the entire time.

“Lady Weir,” Sheppard repeated.

“Yes,” Rodney replied, willing his heart to stop its maddening gallop and resume a more sedate and steady pace. “She also sent along congratulations again on our nuptials. I have thanked her for the both of us in the response.”

Sheppard frowned, glancing up quickly at Horatio who quickly served the Marquis a cup of coffee and a plate of dry toast. Sheppard fiddled with his napkin for a moment and then spoke again. “Uh, I should try to explain-”

“I have also already taken the liberty to responding to our wedding correspondence and thanked all attendees for their gifts.”

“You - what?” Sheppard appeared confused and Rodney could have perhaps given him a moment to respond, but instead barreled on.

“Yes, I found the estate seal in the library and used it on the letters. I trust there are no objections.”

“Uh, no, no objection. Look, Rodney, I-”

“Excellent. I shall continue to maintain the calendar for the household. Please remind your valet to inform me of any independent appointments you may have so that I can update it accordingly.”

“Independent appointments?” the Marquis echoed.

“I do not need to know what they are,” Rodney stated, meeting John’s eyes steadily across the table. Heavens knew he did not want to know if Sheppard was seeing a lover or visiting the tailor. “As long as I know which times you are not available to attend any functions we are invited to due to any other appointments you already have, or any periods of time you may be out of town.”

“Out of town,” Sheppard said carefully.

“I’m sure a man of your estate and means has many appointments he needs to attend outside of Atlantis,” Rodney said, giving Sheppard an easy out for his absence post-wedding. “I’ve no interest in managing your time at a microscopic level. I am a busy man and I’m sure you are as well. If at all possible, I would appreciate knowing when you plan to be out of town so that I can plan our household calendar accordingly.”

Sheppard watched Rodney for a moment and Rodney forced himself not to look away, holding his gaze steady. Finally, Sheppard swallowed and nodded.

“All right.”

Rodney’s stomach and heart sank at those two words. He didn’t know what he expected or wanted. For Sheppard to tell him why he’d been out of town? That there’d been some kind of unavoidable emergency that only Sheppard could deal with? Something so odd and urgent that he was unable to tell Rodney about it, and even now couldn’t tell Rodney the full truth, only that he was sorry and regretted leaving Rodney on their wedding night without so much as a gentle word goodbye?

Foolish and ridiculous. There couldn’t possibly be something so urgent or disastrous that Sheppard had needed to run off the night he was married without a word to his new husband. He left because he wanted to. They were married now, and Sheppard had clearly wanted to send a direct and unmistakable message about what their marriage would be like. It would be in name only. Rodney couldn’t imagine what Sheppard was getting out of the bargain. Perhaps the pushy mamas of the _ton_ had harassed him too long and being married would finally put them off chasing him to marry one of their sons or daughters. Perhaps there was an unsavory and greedy mistress or paramour who wanted more than Sheppard was willing to give and he needed a marriage to keep them at bay.

It didn’t matter to Rodney, he reminded himself. They were married now and there was no reason to act childish or petulant about it not being the kind of marriage Rodney had hoped for. Sheppard had been kind to Rodney, was easy to look at and was rich. Rodney could hardly ask for anything more.

He dabbed the fine white linen napkin at his lips and pushed his chair back, standing from the table.

“I’m glad we were able to settle this so easily and calmly. Please excuse me, I had planned to head into town today.”

“Oh, I… of course.” Sheppard nodded at Rodney and Rodney felt Sheppard’s eyes on him as he walked out of the dining room.

#

***

#

Rodney let himself out of the carriage and hurried up the walkway to the front door, already furtively glancing around as he did. Could the Genii be watching him even at this moment? How concerned should he be? As he opened the front door, the butler was already approaching to take his coat, which Rodney quickly handed off.

“Is the Marquis at home? I’d like to speak with him,” Rodney said.

“I regret to inform the Marchioner, he is not. He was called away on urgent business and indicated he is not to be expected home until later tonight at the earliest.”

“What?” Rodney blurted loudly before he had a chance to censor himself. His voice echoed in the marble foyer. The butler was startled by the outburst and his mouth opened and closed for a moment, as though he was going to repeat himself. Rodney cut him off preemptively with a hand wave of dismissal. “Never mind.”

“If you wish, when he returns, I will inform his valet you wish to speak to him.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” Rodney muttered as he turned away and headed to the study. Once there, it took several moments sitting behind his desk and shuffling his papers for his mind to settle enough for him to work.

Putting out any and all concerns about his encounter with Envoy Radim, and about Sheppard, Rodney focused on the encrypted notes in front of him. The Genii had obviously changed their cryptography strategy from the last set he’d worked on. This was the part of the work that was the most frustrating, but also ultimately the most rewarding. Rodney pulled out his working ledger and began looking for patterns while he worked. He would routinely try to crack the correspondence using several beginner cyphers or known codes, simply as a way for his brain to become familiar with the letters and numbers before him. It wasn’t as though he thought any of the routine or child-like cyphers he tried would work. It was more that while he pushed through the rote and numbingly easy exercises, his brain was taking notes about potential patterns it was seeing in the code. Things to try, things not to try, similarities and differences to other things he’d seen before in the past. He would then work his way up through some of his more favored cypher-codes and by the time he was done them, he would have a good idea of what he was working with.

Out of his briefcase, he pulled out the most recent Genii newspaper. He skimmed through the major news points and then focused on the weather details, looking for anything extraordinary. Last month, he’d been able to crack a couple of codes when he noted that the southern area of the Genii world had experienced some terrible lightening storms. The Genii word for lightening was horribly long and finding a cypher’d word of extreme length, he’d taken a guess the writer was discussing the storm, and he’d been right. Using that word, Rodney had been able to crack the rest of the code. Cypher-breaking wasn’t always so easy, but he’d picked up quite a few tricks of a similar nature along the way.

He was surprised by the calm yet firm knock on the door. Looking at the clock, he saw it was an hour past dinner time. He’d spent the entire late afternoon and early evening working and hadn’t even noticed.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened and Horatio stood there, tall and formal. “Cook inquires if you’ll take your meal in the formal dining room, or here, Marchioner.”

“Here, Horatio, thank you.”

He nodded once, and Rodney went back to work, barely noticing when Horatio returned minutes later with a full plate of dinner and silverware to accompany it. Horatio lit a few more candles about the small room and stoked the fire, departing quietly when he was finished. Rodney ate while he worked, finding the small enclosed environment of study infinitely preferable to the long, empty dining room where he would be the only occupant. Thoughts of Sheppard again crossed his mind. Why had he offered to come to Rodney’s lecture if he wasn’t going to be able to make it? Why had Rodney almost believed him? What sort of glutton for punishment was Rodney that he entertained for a moment Sheppard would come? Distracted, Rodney found his eyes drawn to the other side of the study where Sheppard’s own desk sat. While Rodney’s was perpetually covered in paper, ink bottles, pens, newspapers and scientific journals, Sheppard’s was eternally neat and pristine. A solitary book sat on the table, his personal calendar, with a single pen and ink bottle next to it. It was always available for Rodney to review against their shared calendar, and he was sure if he opened it now, he’d find Sheppard and Lorne’s tidy and small writing filling the pages. A burst of anger drove him to stand up and march over, flipping open the calendar to today’s entry. The morning indicated Sheppard had an appointment with Mssr. Dex at nine. The afternoon had a single entry - _R - Spectroscopic observations on interstellar nova_ \- written in Sheppard’s careful script.

Rodney didn’t know how to feel. It was his the details of his lecture in the calendar, as though Sheppard had planned on attending, but nothing else. There were no other appointments before or after indicating what would have prohibited Sheppard from attending Rodney’s lecture, nor was there any indication of where he was now. Rodney snapped the book shut. Likely a gaming event or card tournament, or something equally as frivolous had arisen at the last moment and Sheppard hadn’t thought twice about cancelling his attendance at Rodney’s lecture and running off. It had probably run late, bleeding into other debaucherous events and Sheppard was no doubt either completely foxed for the evening or on his way to being so. Rodney should just call it at night and go to bed.

Or maybe he was angry enough to stay up and wait for his ne’er do well husband to stumble home in the dead of night. Maybe Rodney would be here, waiting and when he heard Sheppard come in, he would give him a piece of his mind. Fueled by anger and outrage, Rodney threw himself back into his desk chair and channeled his emotions into his work, committed to saying up as long as it took to confront his inebriated husband.

That had been the plan. He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but he awoke with a start at the sound of a cup being carefully set down beside his head (which was resting on the desk) and Horatio pouring him a cup of steaming coffee.

“Good morning, Marchioner,” Horatio intoned. Rodney had worked through the night often enough that finding him in the study was likely no surprise. He pulled the coffee carafe away once the cup was full, nary a drop running down the spout. “Cook has your meal ready. Will you dine here or shall I have the dining room put in order?”

Rodney blinked a few times, staring at his desk and the papers in front of him. He’d completed a lot of work last night, eliminating several cypher possibilities and thought he was close to breaking the latest Genii codes. He’d knocked over a bottle of ink when he fell asleep and while the original codes were unmarred - off to the side of his desk - his working papers were obliterated with blue-black ink, still wet and tacky; the paper soft and fragile. He’d have to re-do some of his work to catch himself up on where he’d left off.

The thought of it being morning was jarring and disorientating. He checked the small clock on his desk and saw the time. Seven o’clock - slightly past his normal waking time. The last hour he recalled checking the time was around two and there had been no site nor sound of Sheppard returning. His eyes had been gritty with fatigue from the work and the poor candlelight. Working on cyphers was best done in the better light of day, but he’d been close and still angry. He’d thought he would rest his eyes just for a moment and now here was Horatio with coffee.

Rodney took a long drink, heedless of how it burned his tongue. “I’ll come to the dining room,” he answered, feeling the stiffness in his neck and back from a night spent hunched over his desk. “I just need to clean this up first.”

“If you like, I can have one of the servants do it.”

Rodney shook his head, drinking more coffee, his mind clearing. It wouldn’t do well to have anyone else see his work. It was extremely likely no one would understand, but Rodney didn’t like the risk. “No need. It will take a moment.”

Horatio nodded. “Very good, sir. I shall have your place made ready in the dining room.”

Just as he was at the doorway, Rodney spoke again. “Has the Marquis returned?”

Horatio paused and Rodney wondered how sad his life was that even the servants appeared to be sorry for him. It wasn’t as though Horatio had a particularly expressive face, but the length of his pause spoke volumes. “No, sir. His rooms are untouched and I’ve not seen his valet, nor heard of his return from any of the servants.”

Rodney paused, swallowing around the dryness in his mouth before he realized he was still holding a partially full cup of coffee. He finished the brew in two large swallows and set the cup down with a slight clink of china on china. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“If he returns, you will be the first to know.”

It was on the tip of Rodney’s tongue to say, “do not bother,” but that seemed particularly childish and petulant.

With another nod, Horatio was gone.

Taking a deep breath, Rodney righted the spilled ink bottle and then grabbed some spare blank paper from his desk. He used it to make a sort of ‘ruined paper’ package by wrapping and folding the ink-soiled paper into a parcel which he summarily dropped into the trash. It took less than five minutes to tidy up the mess and he wished his life could be so easily cleaned up and rectified, which was uncharacteristically fanciful and impractical of himself. He sat back in his chair and sighed, rubbing at his still gritty eyes with one hand. He wasn’t dreadfully unhappy. Nor had he grand romantic illusions about what his married life would be like. At least, he hadn’t when he was younger.

But being courted by a man like Shepherd - rakish, handsome, charming - it was as though something had come alive in Rodney when that happened. Something small and bright, reaching its tentative tendrils out and finally seeing the sun for the first time.

Now, it felt like that small, timid something was withering and dying. A thing he didn’t even know he wanted, dangled before him only to be taken away. Its loss made him melancholic and angry.

He wondered, again, why Sheppard had courted him to begin with. Was this all Sheppard wanted in a marriage? Two people sharing a household, occasionally going to the same functions, but spending more time apart than together? Perhaps it was exactly what Sheppard wanted. Maybe Sheppard picked Rodney because Rodney had a multitude of interests and work separate and apart from him, and Sheppard was left to his own life.

Maybe Sheppard had thought long and hard about the kind of marriage he wanted and this suited him fine. Instead of some pretty simpleton who would hang off him endlessly and demand his time, Sheppard had a spouse that would be able to entertain themselves.

Well, he was not going to find any answers today, staring at Sheppard’s empty desk. Sitting upright, Rodney took a moment to tuck the cryptography papers into one of his locked desk drawers and then resolved to only focus his thoughts on breakfast - an event with no mystery or hidden feelings. Unlike his husband.


	4. Chapter 4

The Marquis returned three days later and when he finally did, he came home looking like something the cat should have left on the doorstep instead of dragging into the house. Rodney had been ready to tear a strip of skin off the Marquis a mile wide for leaving (again) without any notice, but the sight of his overly pale face and the way he hobbled into the house with Lorne supporting his weight, left Rodney speechless for a moment.

But only for a moment.

“What the hell happened to you?” Rodney exclaimed.

Sheppard looked up - he legitimately had to raise his head from where he was somewhat stooped over as Lorne supported him - and met Rodney’s gaze with a grimace.

“Rodney, you’re… here.”

Lorne stumble a bit under the weight of the Marquis as he swayed.

“Of course I’m here, I live here,” Rodney said, snapping out of his frozen stance and dropping his briefcase with a loud thud on the marble floor of the foyer. He moved quickly forward to come to Sheppard’s other side, opposite Lorne, and without thinking, took Sheppard’s arm to swing it up and over his own shoulder. Sheppard hissed but allowed Rodney to help, distributing some of his weight from Lorne to Rodney.

Sheppard grunted as they helped him up the first stair and it seemed like all three of them eye-balled the remaining steps with trepidation. Rodney briefly wondered if it would be easier to carry the Marquis if he were unconscious, but, as it was, he was awake and managing some of his weight.

“His lordship had an mishap,” Lorne supplied, somewhat out of breath. God Lord, how had Lorne gotten Sheppard this far? Presumably by horse until the house, but from the end of the walkway where a carriage or a horse cart would drop to the entrance of the house was no small distance. Rodney was already struggling under Sheppard’s weight and they’d barely made it three stairs.

“A mishap?” Rodney repeated, grunting a bit as they made it up another two stairs. “This looks like a full on catastrophe. Is that blood?” Rodney nearly yelped, finally taking note of the dark brown stains on Sheppard’s jacket and pants.

“Mud,” Sheppard said, his voice gravelly and raw.

Rodney met Lorne’s eyes across Sheppard’s body. Rodney wasn’t an active or physical man, pursuing primarily mental and intellectual activities, but he knew blood when he saw it. And Lorne knew that he knew.

“A fall, from a horse?” Lorne said quickly, but the way his sentence ended on a high-tone indicated it was more of a question or a suggestion.

“Uh huh,” Rodney croaked, saving his oxygen to get Sheppard up the remainder of the stairs. Between them, they navigated down the hallway to the master set of rooms that belonged to Sheppard. Lorne reached out a hand, twisting the door handle and pushing it open before stepping slightly sideways through the doorway, pulling Sheppard and Rodney after him.

Rodney froze again, his feet just outside the entrance way.

“Uh, sir?” Lorne said, the effort and fatigue of getting Sheppard this far clear in his voice.

Rodney had never been in Sheppard’s rooms. He had never seen the inside of them. The door was always closed, and he had never been passing by at the exact moment Sheppard was entering or leaving. He didn’t know what he expected. Ostentatious drapery and furnishings? Haram curtains? Mirrored ceilings?

But the room was quite bland, actually. Smaller than Rodney’s room. He took in the area as he kept moving, supporting Sheppard’s weight as they navigated him over to the somewhat austere bed. Besides the bed, there was a single nightstand, a dresser and a small desk. On the desk was an inkwell and a single bottle of ink with a pen next to it. The pen was plain, not having any of the fancy jewels or showy finishes Rodney had expected, but it was clearly well-used. Actually, the same could be said of all the furniture in the room. Plain, but well-used.

Rodney and Lorne managed to get Sheppard sat down on the bed, another audible hiss of pain escaping his lips as his weight was dropped to the mattress. Lorne reached for Sheppard’s clothes, clearly intending to disrobe him and Sheppard quickly slapped at him, his arms and hands clumsy and seemingly unable to do exactly what he wanted.

“Stop that now,” Rodney said, his voice sharp - the same tone he used as when he was answering a particularly boorish and unnecessary question. He pushed Sheppard’s hands out of the way, pressing them to either side, giving Lorne room to unbutton the Sheppards coat, and then pull the Marquis’ shirt out of his breeches and push the fabric out of the way.

Bright, red blood, shiny and wet, soaked the shirt and was still oozing from a wound on Sheppard’s side.

“Were you shot?” Rodney exclaimed, leaving Sheppard and Lorne for the moment to grab the small basin and pitcher on the dresser, along with a small set of towels. He handed the towels to Lorne who took them with a grunt of thanks and unceremoniously pressed one against Sheppard’s side. Sheppard yelped at the pressure and then slowly, almost as though he were turning to molten lead in front of Rodney’s eyes, melted back into the bed, his feet still on the ground.

“Barely,” Sheppard said, his voice nearly inaudible.

“Barely,” Rodney repeated. “Barely, he says. As though you can be only a little bit shot.” He poured water in the basin and wet one of the towels, using it to mop away some of the other blood he saw. “Is this the only wound?” Rodney asked Lorne.

“Well - ”

“You don’t know,” Rodney cut him off, realizing quickly what the befuddled look on the valet’s face meant. “Sheppard,” moving his gaze from Lorne to Sheppard, he saw the Marquis’ eyes had drifted shut closed. He snapped his fingers loudly in front of Sheppard’s face. Sheppard blearily blinked his eyes open, focusing on Rodney. “Is this the only place you’ve been shot?”

“I think so?” Sheppard answered.

“He thinks so.” Rodney rolled his eyes. “Push harder,” he directed at Lorne, who was putting pressure on the wound. Rodney handed him a second towel when he saw the first already seeping through with blood.

“I know,” Lorne said through a grimace. “This isn’t the first time we’ve dealt with a gunshot wound.”

Rodney pushed up from where he had been kneeling over the prone form of his husband. “Oh, it’s not their first time dealing with a gun shot wound. Well, I’m thrilled to announce it’s mine,” he snapped hotly, striding toward the door. “Horatio!” he exclaimed, his voice loud enough to carry through the entirety of the first floor and likely through half of the lower level. Pounding footsteps sounded immediately and Rodney made a ‘hurry up’ motion with his hands as Horatio ran up the stairs and toward the Marquis’ bedroom.

“My lord?” He questioned, slightly out of breath.

“Fetch the doctor.”

“The doctor?” Horatio repeated, looking down at Rodney’s hands which Rodney just now noticed had blood on them.

“Yes, the doctor,” Rodney snapped. “The Marquis has been shot.”

“Shot?”

“Shot,” Rodney affirmed. “And if you keep repeating everything I say, he’ll bleed out before help arrives.”

“He won’t bleed out, Marchioner,” Lorne said from inside the room.

“Are you talking to me or are you putting pressure on that wound?” Rodney said from the doorway, turning to scowl at Sheppard’s valet.

“I can do both,” Lorne said with a slight grin.

The banter oddly made Rodney feel somewhat better. If Lorne was joking, surely Sheppard wasn’t at death’s door. Although from the way he looked - half on the bed, half off, face pale, blood-soaked clothing, still bleeding as Lorne hovered over him - Rodney couldn’t be certain.

“Military training at its finest, I’m sure,” Rodney added dryly. He turned back to Horatio. “The doctor,” he repeated.

“Of course, sir,” Horatio replied, already heading back the way he came.

Rodney went back into his husband’s room. “We should try to get him more securely on the bed,” he said and Lorne nodded.

“You want to pull him up, or get his feet?” he asked.

“You keep pressure on the wound and grab one of his legs. I’ll get behind him and pull.” Rodney climbed onto the bed and situated himself a little behind Sheppard, getting his arms under Sheppard’s upper body.

“What?” Sheppard mumbled, eyes flickering open.

“Hold on, sir, we’re moving you onto the bed,” Lorne said, nodding once at Rodney who then lifted and pulled him back. Sheppard let out a groan at the movement, settling back onto the pillows once Rodney shuffled out of the way. Sheppard mumbled something Rodney didn’t catch.

“What was that?” Rodney looked to Lorne for clarification but Lorne avoided his gaze, his fair cheeks pinking slightly.

“Finally got you in my bed,” Sheppard muttered, eyes partially open, looking at Rodney, but somewhat distant - as though he weren’t really paying attention. Rodney’s mouth opened and closed and nothing but a strange gasping and clicking sound escaping his throat. 

“That is hardly appropriate!” Rodney hissed, feeling his face go hot. He scrambled off the bed, grabbing another towel and tossing at Lorne. “He’s delirious from blood loss.” It wasn’t anyone’s business if he had or had not been in Sheppard’s bed at any time, certainly not the servants’.

Lorne took the towel without comment, adding it to the stack he held on top of the wound, which Rodney noted was still bleeding.

“How did this happen?” Rodney finally asked. “Who shot him?”

“Er…” Lorne looked away, pretending to be occupied by staring at Sheppard’s wound.

“Was it an accident? Drunken ex-soldiers carousing? Gambling gone awry? Or-” a horrible thought came unbidden to his mind and he wanted to push it away and not say anything but his mouth charged ahead, forming the words, before he could stop it. “Was he challenged to a duel?”

“Um…” Lorne seemed at a loss for words and Rodney’s brain turned inward on itself and ran with the possibility. That was it. The long nights away from home. Sheppard’s absence from Rodney’s own bedchamber. Rodney was a fool to have not considered it before. Sheppard was finding … comfort elsewhere. His stomach churned. Of course. How utterly brainless of him to not realize sooner. Sheppard and his paramour must be very discreet for it not to be the talk of _ton_. Or maybe it was, but no one dared say anything where Rodney would hear it.

Something had clearly gone wrong. Someone had found out, or something had transpired and there had been a duel. Pistols at dawn. My god it was so trite and commonplace. Rodney certainly heard tales of similar often enough. There was always someone from the _ton_ getting called out for saying something inappropriate or touching someone inappropriate or doing something inappropriate. If there was one thing society loved it was the salacious temptation of _something inappropriate_.

He took a step backward, away from the bed, and then another. “Oh. I… I see,” he said quietly.

Lorne’s jaw clenched and Rodney realized the poor man was in a terrible position - caught between his master and his master’s cuckolded spouse. Likely not the duty he signed up for when he became the Marquis’ valet.

“I shall…” Rodney paused not sure what he should do, only that he didn’t want to be ‘here’ any longer.

Lorne looked back at him. “Perhaps you could wait downstairs and bring the doctor here when he arrives.”

Rodney nodded, stepping backwards once, then once more. Then as though he’d finally managed to escape some kind of a magnetic field, he was far enough away from Sheppard that he could move again. He turned and made his way downstairs, back to the main foyer. There were small droplets of blood on the marble and he stared at them, wondering if he should go instruct the housekeeper to take care of them or if the butler would inform her as necessary.

His briefcase was still in the middle of the hallway and he picked it up and clutched it close, not sure where he should go and what he should do. He was supposed to meet Radek and turn over the latest papers he’d decrypted from the Genii. He’d been in a mad rush to get out and then he’d seen Sheppard and forgotten all about the Falcon and his grand daring of rescuing the Genii scientists. The latest Genii correspondence Rodney decrypted indicated they clearly knew their communication was being intercepted and deciphered. It had been amusing, actually, reading letters as they argued back and forth a bit on whether their work had been compromised and deciphered, with one person indicating it was impossible, and with the other vehemently arguing that Atlantis had stronger scientists than Genii and had surely at least decrypted the older Genii codes, but were possibly still stumped by the newest ones.

Which of course, Rodney had already broken and used to decipher the letters in front of him. 

In the final culmination of the correspondence (where the second author indicated he or she thought it not long before Atlantis worked out the latest codes - ha! As if Rodney already had not), the Genii also indicated they would be stepping up their efforts - both to keep their scientists secure and under the control of the Genii, but also to capture the Falcon. They were rather vague on how they intended to do that, and there were a few words of Genii nature that Rodney wasn’t sure he’d translated correctly. He knew he’d gotten the decoding correct, but that only left him with Genii language - translation was still required from Genii to Atlantean. Rodney’s Genii had gotten fairly advanced from his work, but there were still words he didn’t understand. Radek would either know himself, or be able to pass Rodney’s work onto someone that did.

Rodney swore he could feel the heat of those decrypted papers through the leather of the case he clutched close to his chest. He needed to get them to Radek. He checked his pocket watch. Radek would already be waiting for him at the coffee shop by now. His eyes drifted up the stairs. He could leave. The doctor was on the way, and Lorne was with Sheppard. Rodney didn’t have to stay. Indeed, Sheppard was likely unconscious and would not even know if Rodney was there.

But he was incapable of moving. One of the young housemaids happened by, seemingly startled to find him standing alone, holding his briefcase in the foyer.

“My Lord?” She asked, eyeing him with concern, eyes flickering and catching sight of the blood on the ground. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. No,” amended Rodney. “Can you go find one of the stable hands and bring him here?”

She nodded carefully. “Yes, sir. I can do that.” She disappeared quickly and must have found one in the kitchen for they were both back a moment later. Rodney gave him instructions to go to Radek and indicate Rodney had been delayed and was not able to make it. Rodney didn’t dare hand over the papers to anyone but him, and so he asked the young boy to bring Radek back with him to the estate.

“Tell him I have the relevant observations with me and we can discuss when he arrives,” Rodney finished, shooing the boy toward the front door. As the stable hand opened it, Horatio was just coming up the steps with the doctor in tow. Rodney was relieved to see it was Dr. Beckett. Biology was a hack science at best, with it’s imprecise results and grand unknowns, but Carson Beckett was at least a doctor Rodney knew and liked - personally and professionally.

“My Lord,” Horatio said, clearly out of breath. “Doctor Beckett,” he said by way of announcing him.

Rodney snapped his fingers at the both and then turned to head back upstairs, bringing his attache case with him. “Let me know when Hrabě Zelenka arrives,” he called over his shoulder to the young maid as he traversed back up the stairs with the doctor and Horatio behind him.

Just outside Sheppard’s bedroom, he caught Lorne’s voice and he slowed his steps.

“You need to tell him,” Lorne said.

Sheppard’s response was inaudible - Rodney could only catch the timbre of his voice - a murmured low pitch, but no discernible words.

“I did not sign up to be the intermediary between you and your husband!” Lorne exclaimed, just as Rodney pushed open the door. Both Lorne and Sheppard looked over at him like they’d been caught stealing cookies from the kitchen. Lorne looked away quickly, still slightly pink in the cheeks as he pressed down on Sheppard’s side. Sheppard met Rodney’s gaze, his eyes steady even with his face pale and slightly sweaty.

“Heya, Rodney.” And then he had the nerve to smile at Rodney. Smile! As he lay there currently shot, likely by his mistress’s husband or a scorned lover or someone else Rodney hadn’t even considered.

That damn charming, handsome smile that made Rodney feel… something. He wasn’t sure what. He held his briefcase in front of him, like a shied, as the doctor moved past him toward the bed.

Lorne stood and got out of the way, his hands red with Sheppard’s blood. Rodney couldn’t look away for a moment, only able to break his gaze when Lorne picked up the basin and pitcher of water from the floor next to the bed and took them over to the dresser and washed his hands. Carson set his case on the nightstand next to the bed and the sound of medical instruments clinking against one another as he pulled items out made Rodney break out in a cold sweat. Carson pulled back the soaked towels covering Sheppard’s gun shot wound, making a displeased sound as he did.

“Och, lad, what have you done to yourself here?” Carson said lowly, his slight accent coloring his words.

“I hardly shot myself, doc,” Sheppard protested, his voice thin and weak. Rodney didn’t like it.

“No, but you certainly ensure you’re in a well and good position to likely end up that way, aren’t you?” He smiled at Sheppard and then looked over to the doorway where Rodney stood feeling awkward and out of place.

“I’ll have to get the bullet out. Are you sure you want to stay for that?” Carson asked, directing his question right to Rodney.

Rodney shook his head mutely, but didn’t move. He most certainly did not want to witness it, but also found it hard to move.

“Lorne?” Sheppard said and Lorne made a slight inquisitive sound toward him before looking over once at Sheppard and then over to Rodney. He dried his hands quickly on a clean towel and then moved to Rodney.

“Your Lordship, I’m sure you would be more comfortable waiting downstairs in the study, perhaps with some coffee or a brandy?”

“It’s far too early for brandy,” Rodney replied dumbly.

Lorne smiled, corralling Rodney by way of a hand on his shoulder and directing him out of the room. “I’m sure it’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Rodney allowed himself to herded out of the room by Lorne, throwing one last glance over his shoulder as Lorne neatly nudged Rodney into the hallway. Sheppard closed his eyes and Carson was already leaning over him with some kind of sharp instrument and Rodney experienced a full body shudder just as Lorne firmly closed the door to Sheppard’s bedroom, blocking the remainder of what was about to happen out of sight.

Rodney stood in front of the door, dumbstruck, until he heard Horatio clear his throat behind him.

“Would you care for some brandy after all, sir?”

His question snapped Rodney out of his stupor. “No. But I will take the coffee. Please have enough for Hrabe Zelenka prepared as well. He and I were to meet this morning and I have sent word to have him come here instead.”

“Of course,” Horatio said with a slight bow, seemingly unperturbed by the mornings events. He left and it took a moment after his departure for Rodney to take a deep breath and move away himself. It was as though there was some kind of a magnetic pull enacting on his body, straining toward the door.

Toward Sheppard.

He shook his head. More foolishness. Finally able to stop clutching the attache case to his chest as though it were some kind of security blanket, he made his way downstairs to the study to await Radek’s arrival.

And if his eyes were continually drawn to the ceiling as he wondered what was transpiring above his head, no one was around him to notice.

#

All in all, it was rather surprising how little one’s husband being shot affected one’s daily life.

Of course some may argue Rodney was hiding from his husband out in his lab. It was a tiny freestanding building located on the property, but set back from the house. Rodney would say differently. He wasn’t hiding. He was merely focusing on his work. It wasn’t as though no one knew where he was. The staff brought him lunches and dinners, Horatio tended to the fire. It was perfectly obvious he was out there. And if Sheppard was too injured to move very much except for about the house, well, that was hardly Rodney’s fault, nor was there anything he could do about it.

There was work that needed to be done, and if he chose to do it away from the main house so he could focus and not be distracted, that was his choice.

He would stand by that decision.

Besides, it wasn’t as though he didn’t know how Sheppard was doing. Carson came by daily to check on him and each time Rodney spoke to him about the Marquis and enquired how he was recovering. He was doing just that at the moment. Politely enquiring as to his husband’s health.

“Your bloody not ‘enquiring’, you’re absurdly pressing me for information,” argued Carson “And if you want to know so badly, there’s not a thing stopping you from marching yourself right up those stairs and asking him yourself.”

Rodney straightened his spine and set his shoulders back. “I’m quite busy and have several experiments running that I have to attend to.”

“You’re an astrophysicist. Your experiments run best in the dark of night. It’s nine in the morning.”

Rodney leaned forward slightly. “You’re a biological doctor which is pseudo-science at best and voodoo at worst. You know nothing about my work or my experiments.”

“I’ll remember you said that the next time you come down with a fever and send your man over to fetch me.”

Rodney huffed and Carson softened slightly. “Look, Rodney, if you want to know how he’s doing, don’t stand here waiting to harass me. Just go up there and ask him. He’d be happy to have your company.”

Rodney narrowed his eyes. “Why would you say that? Has he said something?”

Carson sighed. “I’m not going to repeat my prognosis every day - once for him and then once for you. Go ask to him.”

“As I said, I’m quite taxed at the moment with my experiments and my… things,” Rodney replied with a slightly haughty sniff. Besides, he had no interest to go and see how Sheppard was recovering. Recovering from being _shot_ most likely due to some sort of salacious lover’s tiff or quarrel.

It wasn’t as though Rodney were an expert on these kinds of things, but honestly, how else did one get oneself shot? Just thinking of it made Rodney’s stomach churn and a sick, hot, heavy feeling sink in his gut. He wasn’t wanted. That was the crux of it. There was no reason to entertain Carson’s notion that the Marquis would be happy to see Rodney when the Marquis probably didn’t like being married to Rodney.

“I should get back to my work,” Rodney said stiffly. Carson tilted his head to the side a bit, and lord save Rodney from perpetuators of the sympathetic head tilt. Nothing made a person feel worst than the sympathetic head tilt. There was nothing for which to feel sorry. Rodney was perfectly fine. He had his work, he had a fine house and was getting published in the Asgardian Annual next year. He was likely on his way to several scientific awards.

It was all fine.

“You look tired, Rodney. Have you been sleeping well lately? Is the Marquis’ injury keeping you awake?”

All right, he’d had enough. Bless Carson’s poor, uninformed, naive and romantic heart for simply assuming Rodney shared a bedroom with his husband.

“Yes, you’ve hit it on the head exactly,” Rodney replied, knowing full well that anyone within half a kilometer would be knocked over by the sarcasm. Carson, gentle soul that he was, only smiled knowingly.

“Well, he’ll be right as rain soon enough and you won’t have to worry so much anymore.”

“Fantastic” Rodney deadpanned. “All my worries will be relieved.”

Carson smiled again as though he honestly believed Rodney and then took his leave. Rodney gave one lingering glance up the stairs and then headed out of the house toward his observation lab. He didn’t need to talk to Sheppard. About anything. There wasn’t anything to talk about. 

He felt more calm and assured once back in the lab. The darkened room (the curtains pulled closed and the windows treated so he could develop film when he wanted), the warmth from the small fire, the smell of his books and ink, all surrounded him like a security blanket. He didn’t have to worry about things like his _life_ in here. In here, there was only science. Physics and math. Numbers and absolutes.

He’d thought after breaking the last set of Genii codes that there would be a flurry of more correspondence for him to work on. The Genii had seemed re-invigorated to catch or trap the Falcon and Rodney assumed that would mean more cryptic notes for him to work on.

Instead, Rodney was pouring over Genii scientific research - courtesy of the Falcon.

The newspapers coming out of the Genii homeland were, of course, silent on even the slightest hint that anything may be amiss. All was well in the homeland, and their leaders were doing well for their people - working hard to establish more fair-trade agreements and exporting Genii commodities for the world to consume.

The Atlantean newspapers were lurid by comparison. The Genii government was close to collapsing. In-fighting was rife and leaders trusted no one but their own particular circles. Scientists feared for their research and for their lives. Anyone caught working against the state could be imprisoned or executed.

On their reports of the Falcon, Rodney couldn’t tell if they had any real information and it was being continuously updated or if they were just randomly making up headlines now. On his last mission, the Falcon had: rescued no one, rescued twenty scientists, killed a man, killed several men, announced his retirement, declared he was now liberating Atlantean scientists and taking them to Asgard, been injured or possibly been killed.

On the state of the Genii, the papers were equally as speculative. Were the rumors of the Genii possessing a new and possibly lethal technology true? Would their scientists balk at advancing such technology? Or, if rumors of the Falcon’s death were true, would scientists now with no hope of rescue simply give in and work on weapons of mass destruction?

When Radek had come to the house, he’d had handed the material over with a solemn face. He was infinitely more knowledgeable than any of the newspapers had been since. He told Rodney everything he knew as he handed over the cache of material - old journals, new papers, meticulous log books and graph charts. The last mission had been successful, but not without casualties. Four scientists had been liberated from a secured compound just inside the Genii borders, but only three had made it back over the border to Atlantean safety. The fourth had died on the journey, providing cover by way of crafting an impromptu explosion as a distraction when gunfire had broken out at the crossing. 

The dead Genii scientist had purchased freedom for her colleagues with her life. In the confusion of the explosion, the Falcon was able to escape with the other three scientists, although he had been injured. Radek wasn’t sure how badly. The three still-living scientists had been taken to a remote country estate (location kept secret for safety) and the Falcon had disappeared to wherever it was he went when he wasn’t orchestrating daring rescues.

The scientists handed over the research they had brought with them, which made its way to Rodney via Radek. Who Radek worked with, Rodney still didn’t know. It didn’t matter. His work now was focused on making sense of the material provided by the scientists. They had brought everything they could, some their own, some belonging to others, all somehow acquired during the rescue. Radek told Rodney of how they explained their work for the Genii - some of them were able to work with each other, but they often received bits and pieces from other scientists they never met - receiving information via military supervisors. They had known they were working on weapons, and did what they could to either prolong the work, or falsify data. They thought their government was unstable, led by men of little or no vision, save for one that was power hungry and wanted domination at the sake of all else. Not all of their colleagues agreed and many of the scientists were happy with the work they were doing, and determined to do anything they could to advance the Genii home world and possibly expand - even if that meant war. The ones that had escaped salvaged and stole what they could, but did not know the full scope of the work.

That work was now with Rodney, for him to assemble and assess. What were the Genii really working on? Did he have enough material to find out? And if so, what countermeasures could possibly be taken?

Rodney had naively asked why the Genii scientists weren’t working on the material themselves.

“Ah, yes, my friend, I asked the same. It seems you and I do not have minds made for subterfuge. There is concern that they may not be true defectors. Perhaps they are lying and are here to infiltrate us themselves.”

“And one of them died doing it?” Rodney had been incredulous.

“Such is the nature of war, I suppose. They are being secluded for their safety and that of Atlantis’ until it can be definitively determined they are not double-agents.”

Leave the subterfuge, the lying, the sneaking around and the daring rescues to someone else, Rodney thought. He would happily rather work on translating materials from their native Genii into Atlantean for consumption and review. This work was at least something he could hope to understand. Mathematical equations, physics graphs, notations made during experiments. He could already tell the issue would be that most scientists were not the best note-takers - each having their own preferred shorthand, developed over the years of their work. It would be up to Rodney to fill in the gaps with his own knowledge.

He was so engrossed in his work that when the door to his lab opened, a bolt of sunlight streaming in and cutting across the floor, he didn’t bother looking up.

“You can put lunch on the other table, Horatio. I’ll get to it in a moment.”

“I told Horatio I would bring lunch by today.”

Rodney shot upright from his hunch over the desk, startled by the sight of the Marquis standing in the open doorway. His eyes were so accustomed to the darkened lab that the sun was a brand against them and he squinted at Marquis. With the sun at his back, Rodney couldn’t get a good look at his face. The Marquis stepped inside and closed the door behind him and Rodney blinked at the sudden darkness, sun spots marring his vision.

“What are you doing here? Should you be out of bed?” Rodney stood, collecting papers and closing notebooks and journals as he did in an attempt to keep anything from being seen.

Sheppard moved carefully, like… well, like a man that had recently been shot and was trying to move without disturbing his wound. He set a cloth sack on the table and then pulled at the drawstring closure, widening the top to reach in and pull out a loaf of bread and several cloth-wrapped hunks.

“Doc said I could finally get up and start moving around.”

“What? Is he mad? You’ve been shot! You should be lying down and… resting or sleeping.” Rodney flapped his hands in Sheppard’s general direction as he spoke.

Sheppard smirked, and oh, that smirk still did things to Rodney’s stomach. “I’ve had enough resting and sleeping.”As he spoke, he continued to unwrap items and set them on the table. “Besides, like I said, the doc cleared it.”

“Biology is barley a science.”

Sheppard smiled, and if the smirk did things to Rodney, the smile was even worse. He looked away from Sheppard, fiddling with the papers on his desk.

“Well, I’m very busy with work and - is that the cheese with the dried fruit in it?” Rodney couldn’t help but look back and watch as the Marquis’ dexterous hands unwrapped things and arranged them on the table.

“It sure is. I asked cook if we had any and the honey ham. I seemed to recall you mentioning they’re your favorites for sandwiches.”

“They are,” Rodney said quietly, shifting from one foot to the other. This was always the problem. He never knew what to say. Sheppard appeared completely relaxed - cutting into bread, arranging cheese and meat on the slices for impromptu sandwiches, hunting around in the bag for a small container of berries and two bottles of milk, which he also set out on the table. Rodney had seen him be as at home in a grand ballroom as he looked now in Rodney’s quiet and dark makeshift lab. There were a couple of sad and tired looking chairs around the table, items that had long ago been banned from the main house and relegated to Rodney’s lab. Sheppard pulled one back and sat on it, the wood giving a satisfying crack as he did - the sound of old, but sturdy, furniture being used.

“Lunch is served,” Sheppard said with a slight flourish, looking up at Rodney expectantly.

“I should be working,” Rodney said, not moving from his spot.

“Surely whatever you’re working on can wait. It’s not like the stars are going anywhere.” There was that smile again - the one that got Rodney into this whole mess to begin with. The rakish hair, the dashing smile, the charming attitude.

“I’ve a lot to do,” Rodney said, able to hear the way his voice was quiet, barely protesting.

Sheppard moved to pull the a second chair out from the table but as he leaned over, he winced and then raised a hand to his side.

Rodney lurched forward. “You should be resting.”

Sheppard straightened up, leaving the chair as it was. “I told you, I’ve had enough and the doc said moving would be good for me. I thought we could have lunch together.”

Rodney blinked. “Why?”

It was Sheppard’s turn to blink at Rodney in confusion, a frown crossing his face. “What do you mean why?”

“I mean, why,” Rodney stammered slightly. “Why would you want to eat with me?”

“Rodney,” Sheppard said, drawling his name out slightly. “Come sit down and eat.”

At just that moment, Rodney’s traitorous stomach growled. It _was_ lunchtime after all. Sheppard must have heard the sound as his smile broke out again - stupid smile that was like the sun coming out after a rain storm. Rodney took one cautious step forward and then a few more, finally coming to stand by the table before pulling out a chair and setting down opposite Sheppard, who was still grinning like maniac as he took a bite of his sandwich. Rodney picked up his own sandwich and took a bite as well.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow at him and Rodney chewed and nodded. “It’s good,” he said after he swallowed. Sheppard preened, sitting straighter in his chair.

“So, what are you working on?” Sheppard asked.

Rodney stalled for time by eating more of his sandwich. It wasn’t as though he could tell Sheppard, ‘Oh, just some Genii scientific material liberated from beyond our borders. It’s early times, but based on my preliminary reviews, I’ve determined they have a shocking disregard for personal safety and enjoy good doses of recklessness and questionable ethics mixed in with their loose definition of scientific rigor.’

No, definitely not a thing to say.

“Still the same topic as my lecture. Spectroscopic observations on interstellar nova.”

Sheppard frowned, setting his sandwich down and dusting off his hands, as though nervous.

“About your lecture, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it.”

Rodney washed down a bite of food with a drink of milk, unsure what to say. “I didn’t expect you to,” he lied, stomach churning as he did. “As I said, it was sold out. You wouldn’t have been able to get a ticket.”

Sheppard gave a single, slow nod at Rodney’s words. “Well. I’m sorry at any rate. I’d like to come to the next one, if you have it already scheduled?”

His tone was so full of hope, Rodney felt bad as he said, “I don’t have one planned at the moment.”

“Oh,” Sheppard replied, nodding again. “But you’ll let me know when you do?”

Rodney saw no harm in offering a shrug and a slight nod of his own. It seemed to mollify Sheppard some and he lost a bit of his nervous affectation.

Rodney focused on his sandwich. These ingredients were his favorites. Sheppard had known that and brought them out here. Granted, it wasn’t as though the small structure he’d absconded for his lab was terribly far from the main house, but Sheppard was injured and could have easily walked about the house, or taken a short turn in the gardens. Instead, here he was, in Rodney’s small, dark and dim lab, eating cold sandwiches and tepid milk.

Rodney couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

He tried to sneak a glance at Sheppard, surreptitiously, only to find Sheppard watching him as he ate. Sheppard popped the final bite of one half of his sandwich in his mouth and then grinned with his lips closed - the expression almost comical on him while he tried simultaneously to chew. Rodney wanted to ask him why he remembered Rodney’s favorites. Rodney wanted to ask him what he was doing here. Rodney wanted to know how he’d been shot. Rodney wanted to know…

Why had Sheppard married him at all in the first place?

Instead, he said, “did you find the walk here difficult?”

Sheppard shrugged one shoulder slightly, carelessly. “First time out, I was bound to be a bit stiff, but it was close enough that it wasn’t an issue.” He grinned, rakish and sharp. “I’ll probably regret saying that after the walk back and I set eyes on the stairs again.”

“I should send our regrets for Lady Athar’s ball,” Rodney said suddenly realizing its impending date. If Sheppard found the walk to the lab tiring, he’d no doubt struggle at the ball.

Sheppard’s easy grin was gone in an instant, expression somewhat hard. “Don’t do that. I’ll be fine.”

“You will likely _not_ be fine,” argued Rodney. “It’s hardly forty steps from here to the house, and only fourteen stairs between the main floor and the bedrooms. Even if you don’t dance, which you are completely incapable of doing at the moment, going to a ball means standing around talking for god only knows how long. Surely Carson did not clear you for _that_.”

Sheppard grimaced, his lips thin. “It’s too late to send our regrets now. The ball is tomorrow.”

“You’ve been shot!” Rodney exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Societal graces will have to make allowances.”

Sheppard leaned across the table, closer to Rodney. “No one knows I’ve been shot, Rodney and I’m not about to tell them.”

Rodney paused, the silence in the lab heavy on his ears. “No? Managed to keep all the details quite secret did you?”

Sheppard looked away. “The details are not worth mentioning. It’s hardly of any concern to anyone what happened.”

That may have been what Sheppard said, but what Rodney heard was, ’ _it’s hardly of any concern to_ you _what happened._ ’

“No, no I don’t suppose it is,” Rodney replied quietly, feeling tired and worn out all of a sudden.

Sheppard’s charming smile was back and directed at Rodney. “It was all so foolish. Like Lorne said. A mishap.”

“A mishap,” Rodney repeated, imagining all sorts of scenarios. A jealous lover, a cuckolded spouse, a wronged partner. All scenarios where the Marquis, Lord Sheppard had gotten shot over some kind of extramarital relations. Had it been another man? Or a woman? Did it matter?

“Exactly. No permanent harm done. It’s hardly worth cancelling our attendance at Lady Athar’s ball over it.”

Sheppard was watching him with such intensity that all Rodney could do was quirk his lips in the small approximation of a smile. “Of course. It would be too late to cancel now.”

Sheppard leaned away again, all casual grace and loose-limbed elegance. “Besides, we haven’t been out to a ball in a while. A night together will be fun.”

“Fun.” Dread settled its lead-lined body in Rodney’s gut. Staring at the bread crumbs on the table, he wished he hadn’t had that sandwich.

A sudden flash of how their life could have been struck Rodney and he nearly recoiled, feeling a physical blow from it. Rodney working in the lab each day. Sheppard bringing him lunch. Eating in the quiet and dim environment, enclosed with each other and safe from the world. They’d trade stories and jokes, share personal items that no one else knew, no one but one another. Sheppard, no, _John_ , would dither when they were done, not wanting to leave and Rodney would let him, finding more things to tell him, starting new topics of conversation to keep him there as long as possible. Finally, Rodney would shoo him away, claiming John was distracting him from his work, and John would laugh and try to steal inappropriate kisses before Rodney chased him from the lab.

But that wasn’t his world. That wasn’t their life. Instead, John, no, _Sheppard_ , was looking at him, and although Rodney couldn’t read his expression, he could not bear it any longer. He pushed his chair back and stood.

“I really should get back to work.”

Sheppard’s face fell and Rodney didn’t know why or how the man could possibly be disappointed. It wasn’t as though he and Rodney were known for having long, lingering lunches together. That had only been a dream. A flash into an alternate world where they were together and happy.

Not this world.

“Sure, I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it. I suppose those stars won’t study themselves?” Sheppard’s tone was light, airy, but his face was at odds with his words. There was something earnest and almost… yearning in his gaze that Rodney could not figure out. 

“No, not hardly,” Rodney answered.

Sheppard quietly gathered up the items, wrapping things back up in cloth and putting them into the sack, re-corking his own milk bottle but leaving Rodney’s on the table for him to finish.

“Well. I suppose I’ll see you at dinner then,” Sheppard said as he stood at the door.

Oh, that’s right - Sheppard was home for the time being, and allowed to leave his room and walk about. There would be no reason why he wouldn’t join Rodney for supper. “Oh, well, yes, I mean, if my work is completed. I may take dinner out here.”

Sheppard nodded, his face taking on that grim cast once again. Without another word, he opened the door and the incoming sunlight once again burned against Rodney’s retinas causing sun-spots to dance in front of his eyes, long after Sheppard had closed the door and left.


	5. Chapter 5

It was no easy feat to avoid a person who lived in the same house as you, but Rodney did pretty well none the less.

Rodney’d thought of staying in his lab, but with his stomach rumbling, the idea of a hot dinner had lured him out. When he’d poked his nose into the dining room, he’d half expected (or hoped) it would be empty. Sheppard sat at the head of the table, slouching slightly in his chair. He seemed to straighten upon seeing Rodney, his expression brightening, and they’d had a not-horrible meal together, conversing lightly on items that were easy and found in the most current newspapers. Rodney noticed Sheppard tired quickly, and Rodney excused himself after dinner to return to his lab to work, leaving Sheppard to retire early.

He’d taken breakfast early the next day, and it had been Horatio that brought his lunch out. When Rodney had finally lost out again his curiosity and asked where Sheppard was, Horatio indicated he was involved in a business meeting back at the house with some newly arrived guests.

Rodney found himself now waiting in the carriage for Sheppard, so they could make their way to Lady Athar’s. Rodney still didn’t think it was a good idea for Sheppard to go, but he remained insistent, claiming there were people at the ball he needed to see. It would be impossible to ignore or avoid him in the carriage, enclosed and intimate as it was,, but at least it wouldn’t be very long. Once they were at the ball, Rodney supposed they would go their separate ways as usual. Sheppard would be the centre of attention of the _ton_ \- his favor constantly vied for, and Rodney would find his collection of scientists and spend the night speaking with them.

And, Rodney needed to find Radek. He’d completed a preliminary review and summary of the Genii material and needed to get it to Radek as soon as possible. Based on his research, the Genii were close to creating a weapon of mass destruction - one the world had never seen. Rodney supposed the Atlantean government would no longer be able to turn a blind, or at least passive, eye on the Genii any longer. Rodney needed to turn his work over to Radek and they would need to discuss what happened next. If Radek’s contact within the Falcon’s group couldn’t take it to the government, then Rodney would. He had no qualms about it. Atlantean safety was at stake and Rodney didn’t care who he had to argue with to convince them of that.

He patted his coat pocket once more, still a nervous habit he couldn’t stop. His summary was tucked safely in his pocket, coded with his own cypher disks (tucked safely away in his lab) for added security. Radek would be able to decode them being in possession of a set of disks himself.

The carriage door opened and it rocked slightly as Sheppard stepped up and into the small enclosure, a grimace crossing his face as he moved.

“This is a horrible idea,” blurted Rodney. “You’re still quite injured.”

“I’m fine, Rodney,” Sheppard drawled, settling his long coat so he could sit on the seat opposite Rodney.

“Yes, perfectly fine. With a sizable hole still in your gut.” Rodney turned his face and glared out the window.

“I was was barely shot.”

“Getting shot is not one of the things that can be measured in degrees. It’s quite binary, Sheppard. You either got shot or you did not.”

Sheppard scoffed good-naturedly. “I’ve been in war, Rodney. Trust me, there’s a big difference between being very shot versus being only a little bit shot.”

Rodney frowned. He forgot Sheppard had been in active duty. They’d never talked about it. To be frank, Rodney neither had an interest in war stories, nor expected Sheppard had seen much action. As someone who once argued with a dowager duchess on if the exact shade of silk she was wearing was beige or taupe did not seem like a man who had spent any time on a battle field compared to being behind a desk. Rodney looked over at him and Sheppard himself was staring out the other side of the carriage and his expression drawn and tired.

The carriage lurched as it moved forward. It was silent inside except for the sound of the horses hooves as they worked over the pavement - a rhythmic clip-clop that Rodney found soothing. Sheppard didn’t start any conversation and neither did Rodney - each of them staring out their respective windows as they moved.

Was this what his life would be for the next forty years? Silent carriage rides with a husband he felt like he didn’t know, who could get shot and Rodney wouldn’t know how or by whom?

Life had been a lot simpler when he only had to worry about physics equations and mathematical proofs.

The long line when they arrived at Lady Athar’s meant their carriage ride had a drawn out end - a stop-wait-go routine that took a full half hour just to get them to the main front door. Sheppard, quick on his feet even when injured, was up and out of the carriage, his movements belying none of his injury, waiting expectantly with a hand out for Rodney before Rodney had even managed to stand up.

Although Rodney didn’t need the help, his body moved automatically, reaching out for Sheppard’s outstretched hand with his own. He was surprised when their hands met by the feel of rough calluses on Sheppard’s skin. He recalled being surprised by it before, when they were courting and their hands had brushed. They must be riding calluses of some sort, for Rodney could think of no other activity that Sheppard was engaged in that would leave such marks on his hands.

Rodney also couldn’t help but note the strength in Sheppard’s arm - an iron band stretched out between his body and Rodney’s. When stepping down, Rodney only touched Sheppard’s arm lightly - not truly needing the support - but he couldn’t stop his mind from automatically calculating just how much of his weight he could have transferred to Sheppard that Sheppard would be able to bear, should Rodney slip or fall.

Then the moment was over and Rodney’s feet were on the ground and he had no reason to keep hold of Sheppard’s any longer. However, before he could pull it back, Sheppard’s fingers wrapped around his own and, with a slight tug, Rodney was a step closer to Sheppard, his arm tucked into the crook of Sheppard’s elbow as he strode up the front steps. As opposed to when he got in the carriage, and there had been a wince on his face and a hiss in his breath, Rodney could not detect any sign of injury in his gait or mannerisms as they entered Lady Athar’s house.

“The Marquis and Marchioner Sheppard,” the announcer called out as they moved from the main foyer into the grand ballroom. 

“Marchioner Dr. McKay-Sheppard,” the Marquis corrected him and Rodney couldn’t help but stare at Sheppard for a moment.

Sheppard caught his eye as they continued to enter the room, various people looking their way at their entrance. “What? You do still like to have your doctorate name, do you not?”

Rodney nodded quickly. “Yes, I just… didn’t realize you remembered that.”

Sheppard’s lips quirked in a quick grin, even as his eyes scanned the room, seemingly taking in everyone who was in attendance. “I don’t forget much about you, Rodney.”

“John!”

A flicker of something, crossed over Sheppard’s face but was gone before Rodney could examine and catalogue it. Annoyance? Disdain? Rodney wasn’t sure. It hadn’t been pleasant, whatever it was, but it was gone so quickly Rodney could have imagined it.

“I’m so glad you could make it.”

Lady Athar swept over to where they were, and Rodney had the sudden image of a large bird of prey swooping down to catch a small mouse. She reached forward, wrapping her arms around Sheppard and although Rodney would be hard pressed to prove in a court of law that it was on purpose, her elbow dug sharply into Rodney’s side. She pushed him out of the way, enabling her to more closely step into Sheppard’s personal space, and okay, now she was nearly inappropriate, leaning her whole body into Sheppard’s while she embraced him.

“Uh, Lady Athar, always nice to see you.” Sheppard’s eyes slid sideways to Rodney’s for a moment and then away again.

“Chaya, please. You’re far too formal, John,” she admonished him, pulling back to beam at him.

She was stunning, Rodney had to admit grudgingly. Dark brown eyes, glowing skin, lustrous hair. Rodney wasn’t aware of what the latest fashion was, but he could take a good guess based on what Lady Athar was wearing, for she wouldn’t be caught dead in anything other than the latest trend. Her dangerously low-cut bodice seemingly defied the laws of gravity and physics and Rodney would swear (if anyone asked) his inability to pull his eyes away from her décolletage was purely due to scientific curiosity and awe at all the laws of nature being contravened to keep it up and covering her while she moved.

She was beaming at Sheppard and it occurred to Rodney he’d missed part of their conversation while he was empirically distracted by her gown. Sheppard was saying something about how they were of course always pleased to attend her events.

“I was so happy to receive your affirmative response. It’s always a joy to hear from you, John.”

“Ah, well. Rodney takes care of all the correspondence, so that would have been from him.” Sheppard moved so he was once again close to Rodney and placed a hand on Rodney’s forearm.

She smiled and her eyes darted down where Sheppard’s hand rested on his arm, and then up to Rodney’s face and he hoped he gave her the same kind of smile she was giving him - tight, awkward and a little bit disdainful. By the look on her face, he succeeded.

“Oh, that’s right. You’ve married.” She looked back to John, taking a fan out from some pocket and tapping Sheppard lightly on the shoulder with it. “It positively devastated the mamas of the _ton_ when they heard.”

Rodney couldn’t help but roll his eyes and didn’t bother to hide it, relishing Lady Athar’s face when she caught it. 

“Well, I’m sure they’ll live,” Sheppard said, good-naturedly.

“With broken hearts, no doubt,” Lady Athar said. “Well, at any rate, I’m so pleased to have you here.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. You always have the most interesting guests.”

Lady Athar waved her fan delicately about herself, wafting the scent of her perfume toward Sheppard and Rodney - a sort of rose-jasmine combination that threatened to make Rodney’s eyes water immediately. Flowers were not always his friend and roses in particular were difficult on his hay fever. Rodney blinked furiously, and stepped away from Sheppard and Lady Athar, needing to get away from the overpowering scent.

“Excuse me,” Rodney said quickly. “I see some colleagues with whom I was wanting to speak.”

He moved away, Sheppard’s hand strangely not leaving his arm until it was impossible to keep contact any longer. While Rodney didn’t yet see Radek, he found a small group of scientists he was familiar with, and took up with them, joining their group discussion. He preened slightly at a few congratulatory sentiments on the success of his lecture, which had been well-received.

After about twenty minutes of conversation a murmur fell over the ballroom and it seemed like everyone’s conversations paused at once, their attention focused on the ballroom entrance. While Rodney hadn’t known who Ladon Radim was when he attended Rodney’s lecture, he would have been the only one in Atlantis if he didn’t recognize the current Ambassador to Genii, Acastus Kolya.

He was well dressed, and seemingly unbothered by the attention he garnered as he entered, making a large show of sweeping off his cape and handing it to a steward. His gaze paused in places as he met the astounded looks of the members of the crowd, and he even smiled a few times. Rodney could overhear exchanges between patrons near to him as the room watched Lady Athar make her way over to Kolya and greet him with smiles and an embrace.

“What is he doing here?”

“Lady Athar invites everyone.”

“Even if she invites everyone, it does not mean _everyone_ has to attend.”

“My wife works at the Athosian embassy and she heard that Kolya isn’t just the ambassador to the Genii.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rumor has it, he’s actually very high up in the Genii political landscape.”

“Then what is he doing spending all his time in Atlantis working as an ambassador?”

“Wouldn’t you if you had a choice between Atlantis and the Genii home world? We have more technology, more luxuries, more advancements. He lives here because he wants to. He gets the best of both worlds. Power in his own, and the luxuries and conveniences of ours. Besides, how much work does he actually do as an ambassador?”

Rodney had to admit that could make sense. Ladon Radim accompanied Kolya and he leaned over to whisper something in the ambassador’s ear. Rodney froze slightly as Kolya’s eyes moved, meeting Rodney’s own over the crowd. He smiled at Rodney.

Smiled like he knew Rodney. But, surely that was just paranoia.

Wasn’t it?

Radim had just particularly pointed Rodney out to him, Rodney was sure of it. Dammit, maybe Rodney should have talked to Sheppard about that, but it had fallen by the wayside in the aftermath of Sheppard coming home shot. Nervously, Rodney touched a hand to the papers in his inside jacket pocket once more. He had to find Radek. He scanned the room again for him but only managed to catch sight of Sheppard, his dark mop of hair easy to spot in the crowd. He seemed to be enjoying himself, firmly ensconced as the centre of attention where he was at. He was the only man surrounded by a group of very attractive women, each of them vying to get closer to him as they spoke. Rodney looked away just as one of them - he didn’t know her by name, only that she was married to one of the Lords Rodney knew was sympathetic to the Genii - leaned closer into the Marquis’ personal space, her lips right against his ear as she said something she must have thought was daringly amusing, her red lips curled into a devilish smile as she pulled away from Sheppard. Sheppard’s face froze for a moment and then he smiled as well, Rodney’s stomach sinking at the sight. Rodney couldn’t help but wonder if Sheppard was intimate with one of the women in that circle. Or maybe all of them, he thought bitterly.

Rodney began to make his way through the enormous room, scanning for Radek. Dammit, where was that belligerent Bohemian? He had said he was coming, hadn’t he? If not, Rodney supposed he could always leave and take his papers over to Radek’s house, assuming that’s where he was. He just was not cut out for his lifestyle. The science, and the code breaking - yes - he could do those quite well. The planning and the subterfuge? He wanted no part of it. Leave it to men like the Falcon to handle.

He wondered if Radek had any official news on what had occurred on the last mission. There was still only rampant speculation in the newspapers, and Rodney was concerned what happened to the Falcon, and if he was alive and unharmed, wherever he was.

As he moved, he caught snippets of conversation. Some still speculating about Kolya. Some much more mundane about the price of peppers at the market this weekend (which apparently was exorbitant and akin to highway robbery). One conversation stopped him in his tracks and he couldn’t help but shamelessly listen in.

“The Lady Kinsey is filing for divorce!”

“What? No! I can’t believe it.”

“It’s true. She said she’s learned things of her husband she cannot unlearn, whatever that means, and she’s divorcing him.”

“A rumor. It must be!”

“The papers have been filed by her solicitor, I assure you.”

“I’m stunned. Were they unhappy?”

“Have you seen her face? Always like she just ate a bad pickle. She must have been miserable. I daresay, if he doesn’t contest, she’ll settle quite well.”

“But the scandal.”

“Pshhht. The scandal will do her wonders. Imagine if she keeps only a quarter of the wealth. It would be enough. To be rich, and single and unable to be ruined by society by an affair or anything else you wish to do? Honestly, if I weren’t so happy with Harry I’d file papers for divorce myself.”

A string of outrageous laughter followed that statement but Rodney barely heard it. He was still struck by the one word he’d heard that was swimming through is brain as he mindlessly wandered the ballroom, eyes no longer really seeing or searching for Radek.

Divorce.

Of course Rodney knew the word intellectually, but it wasn’t one he was overly familiar with in a daily or societal manner.

Divorce.

What if…. What if he and Sheppard divorced?

Certainly it wasn’t impossible. Was it? The idea left him vaguely nauseous and almost a little dizzy. His immediate reaction was a visceral ‘NO’ so profound it was almost audible in his head. He was attracted to Sheppard, he was… fond of him. He’d been swept off his feet by him and then had agreed to marry him, all the while feeling and thinking ‘why yes, I could spend my life with this man and fall in love with him.’

Only he hadn’t been afforded the opportunity. Rodney didn’t fancy himself an overly emotional man, but he continually thought back to his wedding night and each time he did, the gut-punch of when he realized Sheppard wasn’t coming… when he awoke that morning and found out Sheppard had left, and then not returned for days…

They were two adults who lived in the same house, who sometimes shared a meal but that was it. Indeed, the only thing they truly shared was their calendar. While sharing a house and living with Sheppard wasn’t akin to backbreaking labor in a jail camp, it left Rodney feeling empty most days. Empty like the house. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so drawn to Sheppard in the first place, his absence from Rodney’s life wouldn’t be so keen. But he had been, and it was.

Divorce.

With a minor jolt, Rodney realized a waiter was standing in front of him with a tray of water and without thinking about it, he took a glass and held it in front of him, his eyes drifting - not focusing on anything. He managed to murmur a quiet word of thanks, and had a notion out of the corner of his eye of the waiter nodding stiffly before he was gone. Rodney stood off to one side of the ballroom, rotating the glass in his hand, thinking.

Divorce.

“What are you doing standing over here by yourself? Some of your associates are over by the piano discussing the possibility of travel to the moon, which I would actually like your opinion on, and then I overheard someone in another group by the canapé station say alchemy was a real science. But you’re here standing by yourself.”

Speak, or think, of the devil, Rodney thought, and he shall appear. Sheppard stood before him, with a slightly concerned look on his face and Rodney wondered - could I? Should I? Divorce this man?

Sheppard’s eyebrows came together sharply. “You didn’t drink that did you?” Sheppard took the glass of water from Rodney’s hand and as if willed by him magically, there was already a waiter by their side to take the glass from Sheppard as he handed it off. Sheppard’s hand cupped his elbow, squeezing slightly. “Rodney, did you drink that?”

“What? No,” Rodney murmured.

“Are you sure? There are lemon slices in the water pitchers over on the main table.”

“I’m intolerant of citrus,” Rodney replied dumbly.

“I know. I already spoke to one of the stewards and he said he can get you separate refreshment if you like, but I’ve been trying to find you to make sure you didn’t drink any by accident.”

Rodney looked at Sheppard now. Really looked at him. He seemed concerned for Rodney, didn’t he? Furrowed brow, intense gaze. Those eyes. Rodney wondered what the chromatographers would say about those colors. How did they happen to be just that color? Did he care for Rodney on some level, even if it wasn’t a romantic one? He seemed to. Was that enough?

“Are you sure you didn’t drink any? You don’t seem well.” Sheppard’s fingers tightened for a moment around Rodney’s elbow. “I have -” he shook his head, seeming annoyed for a moment. “There are some people here with whom I need to speak, and some… business to which I need to attend. But, I can send for the carriage to take you home. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Other people. Other business. That’s what it always seemed to come down to. Other items in his life of which Rodney had no knowledge. While his work was an open subject for Sheppard, Sheppard’s life was not similarly so for Rodney. Rodney blurted out his next words without knowing they were going to exit his mouth. 

“What about divorce?”

Sheppard blinked. “What about it?”

“No. I mean. I think.” Rodney swallowed. “We should get divorced.”

“What?” Sheppard’s fingers tightened further on Rodney’s elbow. “Are you sure you didn’t drink any of that?”

“I did not.”

“Well, what have you been drinking?” Sheppard’s voice was tight, and a little angry.

“Nothing. I haven’t had anything.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

Rodney straightened slightly, jutting his chin out. “It’s perfectly logical. We could go on as we have been, but we’re strangers living in the same house. We’re both relatively young and, although uncommon, divorce exists and we could separate. Perhaps each of us may find someone to whom we are more suited. Or if not, we’d no longer have to be together with you, I mean, with the both of us, pretending that’s what we wanted.”

Sheppard’s gaze bore into Rodney as though he was trying to cut through the flesh and bone of Rodney’s skull and see directly into the soft grey matter of his brain. His lips thinned and his face went grim. Suddenly, he exhaled and then without another word, started moving, pulling Rodney to trail behind him, like the wake of a boat on a lake. His grip was a vice on Rodney’s elbow as he deftly maneuvered them through the crowd, deliberately and masterfully ignoring anyone that spoke to him or tried to waylay him as he moved.

He didn’t pause once they were outside the ballroom and in Lady Athar’s courtyard. There were several groups outside an enjoying the fresh night air via some torchlights that were dispersed about the area all of whom Sheppard ignored. He kept going, pulling Rodney along with him until they were deeper into the gardens, where there were no longer any other patrons around who may see or hear them.

There were still torches lit this far in the gardens, and the light from their flames danced across Sheppard’s face as he stopped and turned back to face Rodney. Rodney didn’t think he’d ever seen Sheppard angry before.

“All right, now, what is this all about?”

“What’s what all about?” Rodney asked, bewildered at the sudden and vehement change in Sheppard’s countenance.

“Don’t,” Sheppard warned incomprehensibly, pointing his finger at Rodney.

“Don’t you point your finger at me.” Rodney batted it away with a quick swipe of his hand. “And do not act as though this is a total shock or surprise.”

“It _is_ a total shock and surprise!” Sheppard exclaimed.

Rodney scoffed. “Then you’re an idiot.”

Sheppard shifted slightly, wincing visibly as he moved, and Rodney felt his burgeoning anger dissipate into concern.

“Did you move too quickly coming out here? Was it too much being on your feet for so long? I knew this was a mistake. You should have stayed at home to recuperate.”

“I’m fine,” Sheppard said, dismissively, touching lightly against his side for a moment and then straightening again.

“We’ve been through this, you’re not fine, you were shot and I don’t even know how which is why we should get a divorce.”

“You want a divorce because you don’t know how I got shot?” Sheppard asked, incredulity coloring his voice.

“No! Well, yes!” Rodney argued, pacing past Sheppard, unable to keep still. “I don’t know how you got shot, and you won’t tell me and say it’s none of my concern. But the shooting of one’s husband and the details of said shooting are a thing that one should and has a right to know!”

Sheppard moved to be closer to Rodney again. “And if I tell you how I got shot, you’ll drop this ridiculous notion of divorce?”

Rodney thought about it and then jutted his chin out. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Sheppard moved closer to him, hand outstretched like he would reach for Rodney’s elbow or arm again. “Rodney, I-”

Rodney dodged out his reach and pulled his limbs close to his own body, as though he could protect himself with his appendages alone. He couldn’t face Sheppard at that moment, and had to look away, finding his gaze transfixed by a happy, joyous flower nestled in a dense bundle of foliage. It was a soft pink, with yellow stamens and he couldn’t move his eyes from it as he spoke. “I don’t know where you go. And I don’t know what you do. You disappear for days and come home looking like something the cat should have left on the doorstep and not even considered dragging in. We don’t share a life. We don’t even share a bed. We share a calendar, nothing more. I… if I had expected this from our marriage, maybe it would be enough, but I… I had expected more.” He stumbled over his words, finding the vowels and consonants hard to push past his throat, his mouth, his lips. “I had wanted more. I find I am unable to reconcile what I wanted with what I have.” Rodney swallowed and took a steadying breath. “I’m sorry. We should divorce.”

Rodney finally managed to look back at Sheppard and he didn’t know what he expected but the raw, somewhat gutted look on Sheppard’s face was not it. Rodney’s stomach churned at the sight and it was perhaps not the best idea he’d ever had to blurt something of this nature out in the way that he’d done, but he found he couldn’t exactly regret saying it. It was the truth. And as any scientist knew, the truth wasn’t always a beautifully formed theorem or a perfectly balanced equation. Sometimes, there was raw intensity and messiness and it did not do anyone any favors to cover it up.

“Rodney,” Sheppard began and then he paused. He took a step forward and appeared to struggle with what he was going to say.

Rodney spoke again before he could. He dropped his arms to his side and his shoulders sagged. He was tired. “Perhaps you were right earlier, Sheppard. You can do whatever business it is you came here for and I should go home.”

“You never call me John.”

“What?” Rodney asked, confused.

“John. My name. You never call me by it. I don’t think I’ve heard you say it since the day we were married. You only call me Sheppard. Or if I hear you talking to someone else, the Marquis.”

“I didn’t realize you had noticed that.”

Sheppard, John, took another step closer to Rodney. “I noticed. I’ve noticed a lot of things.”

“Have you?” Rodney couldn’t take his eyes off him as he stepped closer. His movements were slow - as though he were afraid if he moved too quickly that Rodney would spook and bolt off into the gardens, like a timid field rabbit.

“I have,” Sheppard, John, affirmed. “I do.”

“Marquis and Marchioner, how fortunate I was able to find you.”

Rodney and Sheppard both turned at the voice and Rodney doubted he was able to hide his physical reaction to seeing Ambassador Kolya and Envoy Radim approach them in the gardens. Sheppard moved suddenly, stepping in front of Rodney, which honestly, while sweet, was a bit ridiculous.

“Ambassador Kolya, Envoy Radim,” Sheppard said, his voice very different now from when he’d just been speaking to Rodney. It was harder, harsher. Rodney didn’t think he’d ever heard Sheppard speak with that tone before. “We were just heading back inside.”

“It’s a shame to waste an evening such as this inside in a mad crush of a ball. It’s much more fresh and invigorating out here.”

“Unfortunately, my husband has expressed an interest to retire for the evening, and so we must depart.”

Kolya smiled but didn’t move; he and Radim stood exactly in the centre of the path, effectively blocking Rodney and Sheppard from leaving. Rodney and Sheppard would have to physically push past them to leave.

Rodney had the sudden realization that was exactly what would have to happen if he and Sheppard wanted to leave.

“Yes, I’m quite tired and not feeling at all well,” Rodney said suddenly, speaking over John’s shoulder.

“I must beg an indulgence of your time, for the moment,” Kolya said, his eyes focused on Rodney. “I’ve heard you’re the foremost scientific mind in Atlantis, Marchioner McKay.”

“McKay-Sheppard,” Rodney said automatically.

Kolya smiled again. “Yes, of course. You’re married to the _esteemed_ Marquis.”

Rodney bristled at his tone. It was one thing for Rodney to have issues with Sheppard, but it was quite another for someone else to disparage him.

“That’s right,” Rodney snapped.

“It’s interesting that a man of your intellect didn’t choose a partner of the same ilk.”

“Hey,” drawled Sheppard and Rodney was amazed that though he felt at times he didn’t know Sheppard at all, he could clearly tell by Sheppard’s tight and coiled body language that he was not nearly as laid back as his casually affected tone indicated.

“But I suppose there is no accounting for taste,” Kolya continued, unperturbed.

“Or maybe I’m not as smart as you think I am,” countered Rodney.

“Oh, I think we both know how smart you are. Tell me, Marchioner, what are your thoughts are on cryptography?”

Rodney willed his body not to move and hoped his face didn’t betray his mind. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about it.”

“Really,” Kolya said, moving closer, Radim close behind him. Sheppard, John, moved as well, keeping himself between the ambassador and Rodney. “I hear you have quite a number of scientific interests.”

“I do. Primarily of the astrophysical and mathematical nature.”

Kolya’s eyes were like diagrams Rodney had seen of sharks in his few forays into the biological sciences - dark and sharp. “Ah, but what is cryptography if not mathematics transformed?”

Rodney swallowed, eyes unable to leave Kolya as he circled them, just like the same shark of which he reminded Rodney. John’s hand reached back, hovering over Rodney’s hip as they turned, keeping Kolya to the front of them. “As I said, I would not know.”

“I think you do, Marchioner. And I think you know quite well of what I speak.”

Kolya paused and in that moment, John turned to face Rodney as well, his expression one of curiosity as his gaze searched Rodney’s face.

“Rodney?” Sheppard said, his tone quiet but inquisitive.

Rodney’s eyes darted from Kolya to Sheppard, and then back again. Sheppard’s eyes were on Rodney and he didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth and then he saw a flash of movement behind Sheppard and a strangled sound escaped his lips as he tried to form a warning.

Radim’s baton stick hit Sheppard soundly across the back and he winced, nearly going to his knees but managing to stay upright. Rodney reached for him, but at the same time as he did, he was seized on either side, by two men who had stepped out out from behind him - presumably waiting somewhere in the garden on Kolya’s behalf. Rodney struggled as they hauled backwards, away from John.

John and Radim were fighting now - John’s fists against Radim’s baton stick. It looked like something Radim likely carried around and had the appearance of a cane, but it was greatly effective as a fighting tool. John had only his own body as a weapon, and Rodney didn’t think he even knew John could move like that - quick, fast, deadly. He blocked a blow from the stick with his elbow (the resounding thwack of the wood hitting John’s flesh reverberated in Rodney’s gut at a sickening frequency) and then reached up with his other hand and grabbed the baton, ripping it out of Radim’s grip and then quickly flipping it over in his own grip and swiftly swinging it at Radim’s head. The connecting sound also making Rodney’s stomach lurch. Rodney kicked at the one man pulling at him, catching him soundly in the ankle and then threw his body weight away from the other man, managing to break free.

He was just close enough to Sheppard to only cry out a warning when another man, presumably another Genii soldier or cohort, came up behind John and swung another baton stick at John. John had his arms up, ready to attack Radim again, and didn’t see the man behind him. The offending stick collided into John’s injured side. John folded over and collapsed immediately to the ground, curling in on himself - an injured animal in the wild trying to protect its weak spot.

Rodney fell to his knees, heedless of the pain of the concrete pavers on his joints as he hovered over John, unsure what to do, or how to help.

“John.”

Rodney’s hands shook as he reached out to touch his husband, wanting to help but not sure how. Suddenly, hands were on Rodney again, trying to pull him up, trying to pull him away from John. He had a sudden moment of clarity - his brain working far ahead of his body. He knew several things in that moment, all at once. They were now surrounded by at least five Genii (he didn’t stop to count, but he could see movement from all around him). Rodney was no seasoned fighter. John rolled slightly to one side and Rodney could see a bright red bloom of blood seeping through John’s shirt - his wound had re-opened. John was struggling to get up, but even if he could, was no match in an outnumbered fight. Rodney had encrypted papers to give to Radek and he could not be taken anywhere with them still on his person. He grit his jaw and again used his body weight against his aggressors, leaning forward with all of it to pull himself out of their grip and to essentially fall on top of John.

John grunted harshly with both surprise and pain and in the few precious seconds he had, Rodney pulled out the small packet of papers he had in his pocket and stuffed them inside John’s coat, getting blood on his hands from John’s side as he did.

“Get these to Radek,” he hissed directly in John’s ear, even a hands were forcibly on him again, pulling him away. Another Genii stepped forward to John and kicked him in the back, as if to ensure he stayed down and Rodney managed to lunge forward swinging and catch him clumsily in the eye with a poorly formed fist.

It hurt quite a lot to punch someone, which Rodney hadn’t known, but now that he thought of it, made sense. Newton’s laws of motion, after all.

“Such violence is unbecoming of a man of science and intellect,” Kolya said as his men restrained Rodney and started marching him through the garden, away from Lady Athar’s mansion, away from the ball.

Away from John.

“Rather hypocritical of you, don’t you think?” Rodney sneered. The men holding him tightened their grip and led them out the other side of the garden path to where a carriage was waiting. Rodney struggled, but was easily outnumbered and outmaneuvered as they forced him inside.

Kolya entered and sat opposite him, positioning his body at an angle that made it clear if Rodney tried for the door, Kolya was ready to defend it. 

“On the contrary, Marchioner, I’m not a man of science and have never claimed to be one.”

“No? Then what are you?”

“I’m a soldier, Marchioner McKay.”

“McKay-Sheppard,” Rodney corrected again.

“McKay-Sheppard,” Kolya repeated, his face smug and relaxed given their circumstances. “And as a soldier, I’m well acquainted with doing what needs to be done.”

“Adding forcible restraint and kidnapping to your list of accomplishments?”

“You presume they are not already there. There’s very little I haven’t already done for the sake of my country. And very little I will not hesitate to do. You should think on that while we travel. I’ll save my questions for when we get to the embassy and can have a more… intimate discussion.”

“I still don’t know what this is all about,” Rodney feigned, hearing the waver in his own voice and hating it.

“I think you do, Marchioner, and I would caution you that lying is also unbecoming of a man of science.”

Kolya knocked twice on the roof of the carriage twice and it lurched forward, taking him further away from John.


	6. Chapter 6

Rodney had seen the Genii Embassy from a distance but never had any reason to be close to it. Admittedly, even with the work he was doing for the Falcon, he’d never felt a need to look at it, or peruse its walls.

Now, as Kolya’s carriage was pulled through the large iron gates, he realized how large the courtyard was and how far it was from the gates to the main entrance. A long way for anyone to come for him. Assuming someone would.

Sheppard knew what had happened, and he was, presumably, alive. Rodney could think of no reason why they would outright kill him, but he also didn’t know anything about how this sort of kind of thing worked. He was woefully uniformed - a situation in which he often didn’t find himself. They would have left John alive, wouldn’t they have? He had been conscious when Rodney was pulled away by Kolya, hadn’t he been?

Now that Rodney was thinking about it, he didn’t know the answers to either one of those questions. He assumed John was alive, albeit not entirely unharmed. If Rodney were to extrapolate what some kind of a rescue for him would entail, John would have to be alive and able to get help. He was rich and had many friends of a similar nature, some were quite involved in politics - Emissary Emaggan one of them. She would understand what had happened at once.

They would have to talk to the Atlantean government and perhaps Rodney’s capture would be seen as an act of aggression by the Genii. Rodney’s freedom would be demanded by the Atlantean Government.

Good Lord, if his wellbeing depended on government posturing and haggling, he would be in Genii custody for quite some time.

The carriage stopped at the main entrance to the embassy and Kolya let himself out, with several armed guards appearing at the door of the carriage to manhandle Rodney out and into the building. They headed down a long corridor, and Rodney’s eyes watched the long, large staircase that went upwards as he was moved further and further away from it. He didn’t know why, but his increasing distance to that staircase left dread settling deep in his gut. That staircase went up - up to where presumably the main offices on the second floor would be. Upwards to where sunlight would filter in. Upwards to where windows were installed in each and every room where Rodney would be able to see out during the day and view the main streets of Atlantis, and if the angle was right, he might even catch sight of the Atlantean parliament building, or if the window faced north, he may be able to see smoke trailing lazily from his own house as the housekeepers raised the fires for the morning.

But the staircase went out of sight when they came to a door at the end of the corridor and forced Rodney through it. And then they went down.

Down into the dark.

It was damp, dank, and poorly lit by haphazardly spaced scones on the wall that were definitely not the sleek and futuristic electric models that Rodney heard they had standard in Asgard. They were also not the more moderate gas models featured in most of Atlantis. No, these had the smell of wax and wick, with the dark charred mottling of old-fashioned candelabra - old and outdated.

The steps down were slippery and his feet almost slid out from under him at one point and he reached out for balance, his hand siding down a slick, organic substance on the walls as he regained his footing. A solider prodded him in the back with a bayonet or a rifle, he wasn’t sure.

“Yes, because prodding me like cattle is going to keep me from falling.”

At times, he really didn’t understand what possessed his brain to send words to his mouth that his mouth was unable to deny. All it got him was another fierce jab in the back that caused him to stumble, but at least this time he’d reached the bottom of the stairs and when he lurched forward, his foot met the earthen ground instead of the empty space of where a missed step would have been.

Now that they were finished descending the stairs, Rodney no longer needed to focus his gaze on the steps in front of his as much, and could look around.

A dungeon.

It was such an overly dramatic word and one he wasn’t even sure when he had learned, for certainly he’d never been the type to read any sort of war history, or subterfuge fiction, or fanciful romance novels - all where brave people (real or fiction) could somehow end up in some kind of a dungeon or jail. But he did know the word and was familiar with it. There was another word that tickled the back of his mind.

Oubliette.

A horrid French word for a dungeon with only a trap door in the ceiling. A place where people would be put to be forgotten.

Sometimes he cursed his enormous brain and it’s propensity to find and hoard words that served no purpose other than to terrify him.

It was only when he received another prod to his back that he realized he’d stopped. Kolya was several steps ahead and the armed men behind Rodney moved him a long like a recalcitrant bull to slaughter.

He should have fought harder at the gardens. He shouldn’t have become overwhelmed as they dragged him away. He should have kicked and screamed and hollered and latched onto John and refused to let go. He should have tried to leap out of the carriage, even if it had been moving. He should done everything he could do stop them from bringing him here, to this dark, despairing place where he would likely never see the light of day again.

Oh god, he was _likely never going to see the light of day again_.

He was pushed into a cell, and then into a chair that was sat at a small wooden table. The chair was smaller than he was used to an immediately uncomfortable, with the wood of the back and the seat misshapen and already digging into him.

Even now he should be fighting or trying to escape or something, shouldn’t he? But what? How? And even if he did get past the armed soldiers, then what, then where? Up the stairs, down a hallway, across an overlarge courtyard and then the gates? Would that work? His brain, an organ he normally considered his greatest asset, felt like his greatest liability. It’s inability to just let his body _act_ , its need to plan and configure and think out all the consequences left him crippled and unable to do anything but allow himself to be pushed and prodded into place.

Rodney dropped his hands into his lap and watched as the armed men nodded at Kolya and he tipped his head in return as they took a stance just outside the cell door. Kolya took another chair, across the table from Rodney and then pulled out a parcel of papers from his pocket and set them down on the table, in the centre, between them.

“I’m sure these are not quite the accommodations you’re accustomed to, Marchioner,” said Kolya.

“I’m not _accustomed_ to being kidnapped and taken hostage, no,” snapped Rodney.

“Hostage? Not at all. You are a simply a guest of the Genii Embassy.”

“Am I to understand you treat all your guests to such fine accommodations?”

“Our guests are afforded the accommodations to which they are best suited and of which they are the most deserving.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Rodney said hotly. “I haven’t done anything to the Genii.”

Kolya raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you?” He leaned forward slightly and although an entire table was still between them, Rodney couldn’t help but lean back - keeping as much space as he could from him.

Kolya picked up the packet of papers on the desk and unrolled the length of twine holding them together. Keeping his eyes on Rodney, he started unfolding papers - correspondence it seemed, from the illegible writing Rodney could see scrawled on the pages. He set a number of them down in front of Rodney and Rodney couldn’t help but look at them, his curiosity piqued.

They were encoded pages, but simple ones. He easily recognized them. Atlantean cyphers - early ones, from before he became involved. He had similar ones deep in a desk drawer at home. Radek had brought them when Rodney had first started working for the Falcon’s cause. The Falcon and his group knew their words were being decrypted and Radek had been contacted by someone to reach out to whomever he deemed trustworthy and capable of cypher work. Radek had gone to Rodney and although cypher coding was not one of the things Rodney had been capable of at the time, he was quickly able to learn what he needed to know. He started out with more complex cyphers that remained unbroken for short periods - some of which he could see on the papers before him. He recognized the notes in the margins on some of the sheets - similar to notes he made for himself when he was decoding items. He could see the Genii minds at work on these pages - almost watch them think as they figured out his coding.

Kolya swapped out pages as he watched Rodney read, and Rodney knew what pages were coming. As he moved to the next page, and then the next, the cyphers became more difficult, but were still decoded, with Genii notes clearly and correctly detailing the contents. Sure enough, the cyphers suddenly switched and while there were Genii notes on all the pages, there were no lines of decoded text. No revealed information. No translation of the cypher.

These were coded with Rodney’s cypher disks. While Rodney imagined the code could and would be eventually broken if the Genii had perhaps some kind of automated way to review and analyze the pages, no such technology existed and the only way they could or would break it would be if they had hundreds of scientists working on hundreds pages over thousands of hours.

And the Genii were getting increasingly short on scientists thanks to the work of the Falcon.

“This looks like gibberish,” Rodney said plainly, wishing his fear couldn’t be heard in his voice.

“It certainly does, but of course, you know it is not.”

“What do you want from me?” Rodney asked knowing what the answer would be.

“I want you to decode these pages and tell me who is the man the papers call the Falcon.”

Rodney’s heart beat rabbit-fast. “As I told your man Radim, when he so rudely spoke to me at my lecture, I do not have the time to pursue this area of science. I know no more than your scientists would.”

“Even if that were true, I’m sure a man of your intellect would be able to decode this much faster than anyone in the Genii land would be able.”

“Well, I appreciate your faith in my abilities, but even if I had an interest, this would take…. I don’t even know how long.”

“I think you underestimate how… motivated a person can be to find a solution,” Kolya said. He made a ‘come here’ motion with his fingers and one of the guards came back into the room and stood at the side of the table. Kolya nodded at him again, and he unbuckled a kind of holster on his belt and took out a knife and set it on the table next to the papers.

Rodney swallowed, curling his fingers into his palms as they rested on his lap, his eyes stuck on the knife, the way the blade looked shiny and sliver even in the meagre light of the cell.

“You can’t possibly mean to torture me.”

“If you decode the pages, I won’t have to.”

“I’m an Atlantean citizen.”

“And within the walls of our Embassy, you’re on Genii soil.”

“Against my wishes!” Rodney hissed. “This is kidnapping!”

Kolya raised an eyebrow, unperturbed by Rodney’s outburst. “Yes, it is.”

“What information could possibly be in those pages that you need so badly? The papers say the Falcon might even be dead. There’s no reason to do all this over a dead man.”

“A man like the Falcon does not simply die, Marchioner. Not now, at any rate. Even if the rumors are true, someone else will pick up his mantle. Someone else in Atlantis will be a threat to the Genii. Your people have become far too meddlesome in our affairs.”

“When you’re in the midst of building weapons of mass destruction, we have good reason to.”

Kolya smiled, and Rodney’s stomach sank at the sight. Oh no.

“That is not information known outside certain circles in our land, Marchioner. If you were hoping to continue this charade of trying to convince me you are not involved, I’m afraid you just gave yourself away.” Kolya picked up the knife on the table and turned it over in his hands. He stood up, causing Rodney to flinch with the suddenness of his movements.

“I’ll have some supplies brought down for you to work. Until they arrive you have some time to think about what’s best for you.”

He turned and left, one of the armed men closing the cell gate. The sound of it locking, the dull clink and thud of the gears engaging, echoed in Rodney’s ears. He looked at the papers on the the table in front of him. The most horrifying thing was, he might not be able to break his own cypher. It worked on a double-disk system - one disk to encode, one set in sync to decode. Without knowing what settings were used on the first disk, and without having the second disk to apply those same settings, Rodney would have to reconstruct the entire system from scratch - without any of his research to help him.

He rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. He could probably do it, but he had no idea how long it would take him. And while he was working on it, he’d be under the constant threat of Kolya and his Genii soldiers. They likely wouldn’t realize how difficult it was and would think he was stalling.

But what choice did he have other than to work on it? He could work on it for a while to buy himself some time.m But for how long? And to what end?

Could the government get him out? Assuming John was left alive to say what had happened, how long would politics and posturing take? All the while, Rodney would be down here, in this cell.

If he worked on the cypher and did manage to decrypt his own work, what would the pages say? Would they put the Falcon (who may or may not be alive) and his people at risk? Could Rodney trade his own life for others? He never considered himself a brave person, and the thought of resisting made his hands tremble. But he also didn’t know if he could live with himself if he did decode the pages and found out he’d just sacrificed other lives for his own.

Assuming that once he decoded the pages, he would be allowed to live, that is. There would be no reason for the Genii to keep him after he completed decoding the notes. If John was alive, he would take the packet Rodney had given him to Radek and tell the Bohemian what had occurred. Radek was smart enough to know what it would mean and would disperse the word that anyone using Rodney’s cypher disks had to stop. While Radek understand how long it would take Rodney to reconstruct the cyphers (meaning all coded messages were not immediately invalid), he would also know Rodney could do it and they couldn’t take the chance of continuing to use the disks.

Further communiques would not use Rodney’s disks. These messages, maybe a few more already be floating out there wold be it - no further ones. 

Rodney would quickly outlive his usefulness, and as Kolya pointed out, he was currently on Genii soil. There may be some people who could be sympathetic to Rodney and his plight, but finding them… he wouldn’t be able to trust anyone that came into the cell, and he doubted very much he would see anyone else but Kolya and a few guards.

Breaking his situation down into simple known variables, he had the following:

He was currently alive.

The pages were currently still coded.

The first remained true while the second was also still true. However, there was no guarantee on the quality of his life while in captivity.

If he decoded the pages, he may stave off torture, but potentially cause harm to others (depending on what was in the pages).

Then, once the pages were decoded, his life was no longer useful.

Unless they used him to work on their weapons of mass destruction, which was also a horrifying thought and one he wished he hadn’t thought of.

He should have never let them take him from the garden’s at Lady Athar’s ball. He should have fought as hard as he could have; drawn attention, screamed, shouted, kicked, punched. Anything to stay where he was - not in their captivity and with John.

John.

His thoughts on his notes making it to Radek were all predicated on John being alive. He’d been prone on the ground the last time Rodney had seen him. Surely the Genii soldiers wouldn’t have killed him.

Right?

Oh God, what if they had? Or what if they’d re-injured his wound so badly that he bled out on the cobblestones of that horrid garden? And the last thing they’d been talking about was Rodney suggesting a divorce. Sheppard, John, had seemed surprised by Rodney’s declaration they should separate. Was it a shock to him? Did he not feel the same way? Rodney didn’t know and, now, would never get the chance to ask him.

What if Rodney had said something earlier, something sooner? Would their marriage have had a chance at something real, something more than just two individuals sharing a calendar, if Rodney had spoken up before tonight? Why hadn’t he? The fear of rejection seemed so much less impressive now that he weighed it against the fear he’d felt when Kolya’s goon had pulled out his knife and set it on the table. Rodney had been afraid of getting his feelings hurt and his ego bruised, but if he’d just said something or done something, maybe it would have worked out.

And now he wouldn’t have that chance. He wouldn’t have the chance to tell John that, despite their distance, despite their separate lives, despite the way Rodney simultaneously curled in on himself, using indifference as a shell, while also using his intelligence like a battering ram to keep John away, Rodney loved him.

Rodney was _in love_ with him.

Rodney had fallen in love with him early on and hadn’t stopped, even with how their marriage turned out. It’s why he was so continually hurt by not knowing John’s life, by not seeing him in the house, or knowing where he went.

Oh, the wicked and cruel irony - if he didn’t care, _he wouldn’t care._

But he did, and it cut deeply whenever John was away and Rodney didn’t know where. When John was nice to Rodney, or seemed to take an interest in what Rodney was doing, Rodney would always remember their wedding night when John didn’t show up - he kept the pain of that wound fresh, ensured it never healed so that every time he thought he could soften toward John, every time he thought maybe about giving John a chance, or asking John about it, Rodney would remember it and salt the wound himself as a reminder of what was at risk. Of how badly it would feel to hurt that way again.

He’d ruined it all.

The sound of footsteps approaching shocked him out of his thoughts and he straightened in the chair, looking toward the barred metal door by the time Kolya appeared with a guard. The guard opened the door and Kolya stepped in, motioning for the guard to bring what he had to the table.

Pens, ink bottles, pencils, and paper were all set down before Rodney.

“If you need other scientific materials, I can have them brought as well, of course,” Kolya said, managing to sound disdainful even as he spoke.

“How thoughtful of you,” Rodney said, injecting his own disdain into his voice. He made no move to touch or pick up any of the materials.

“The sooner you get to work, the sooner this can all be over, Marchioner McKay.”

“McKay-Sheppard,” Rodney corrected, thinking of John. John and his floppy hair, and his charming smirk, and his impossibly colored eyes. All of which Rodney would never see again.

“McKay-Sheppard,” Kolya amended, with a slightly amused look on his face. He also had an air of expectation about him that was worrisome.

“Look, you obviously don’t understand the science in play here,” Rodney began.

“Nor do I care to, Marchioner.”

“But,” continued Rodney, with belligerence, “I can’t just snap my fingers and decode these pages. It’s not a party trick.”

“Your system coded them. You can decode them.”

“It’s not that simple. The whole point of the system is that no one can decrypt the the codes without the key. No one,” he emphasized. “Including me. Not without the key.”

“You built the keys in the first place. Do it again.”

Rodney tried not to roll his eyes, he really did, but he could feel how unsuccessful he was. “That’s not how science works.”

“Then I suppose you better invent a new science and make it work that way. You are the foremost mind in Atlantis, are you not? Or are you telling me you’re expendable and I should go find myself someone else to do this work?”

“There is no one else,” Rodney said hotly.

“Then you’d better get to work. I need those pages decoded. And you’re going to do it for me.”

“And if I can’t?”

“I know you can, Marchioner. So, if you _won’t_ , then we’ll need to have a very pointed discussion on what incentives are required for you to complete your work.” As Kolya spoke, he motioned his goon forward, and the young man placed his hand on his belt, where his knife was kept.

A shock of terror raced down Rodney’s spine and pooled at the base. “You won’t get anything out of me if I’m dead,” said Rodney.

“Marchioner, you surely are not a man of war if you think the only way to hurt someone is to kill them. There are a lot of ways to motivate a person. I can keep you alive for a very long time, against your wishes even.”

Rodney swallowed as Kolya’s gaze burned into him. Seemingly satisfied with his threats, Kolya turned and left the cell, his goon following him and securing the door as he did, leaving Rodney alone in the cell.

#

Apparently it was possible to fall asleep even when in the throws of abject terror. Rodney didn’t even realize he had until he awoke still in the chair, collapsed over the table, the supplies Kolya brought down still untouched.

The candle in the small candelabra closest to his cell had burned out, and it left most of his cell too dark to work anyway. He’d worked in worse conditions, but he hadn’t been able to force himself to pick up the pen and even pretend. He supposed he could feign work for a few days at least - rewrite some simple mathematical and physics proofs, that, while wholly unrelated to anything remotely to do with cryptography, would possibly pass inspection of anyone not scientifically inclined.

He somehow doubted Kolya would bring anyone to check his work. At least, not right away. Rodney was also reasonably sure even if he did, he could smoke-talk them with science.

That would at least give him time to think. Think of what - escape, giving in, death - he didn’t know. Rodney only knew he wasn’t ready to decrypt what was in those pages, lest they contain anything that could put anyone’s lives in danger.

At first, Rodney didn’t know what had awoken him (other than the aforementioned abject terror) and his only thought was that he longed to be unconscious again, dreaming of lying on his back in the field behind the house, seeing only clear blue skies, and then the shape of someone’s head, slightly blocking the sun, their features obscured due to the angle at which they hovered over him, but the identity of the person unmistakeable due to the mop of ridiculous hair silhouetted in the sun.

But he wasn’t asleep any longer. He was awake. Awake and in a dark, dank cell, with a horrid crick in his neck from sleeping on the table - much like he would get when he fell asleep on his desk at home.

 _Home_.

The word sent such a visceral stab of longing through him that his breath was stolen and it took him a moment to breathe. When he finally managed it, he realized what had woken him up.

Shouting. There was shouting coming from above. And footsteps. Interspersed with other heavy thuds and more shouting. He sat up in his chair, pushing his back against the wood and hearing it creak as he did. He tried to make sense of what he was hearing, but had no frame of reference.

Then there was the far sound of a heavy door opening and more steps, this time on stone. Someone on the stairs - no, more than one person - coming down to the dungeon. Rushing toward his cell. He stood, knocking the chair over as he did, and crept back into the darkened corner of his cell - as if it would offer him some protection from whatever was approaching.

With the dim light, when he saw shapes advancing, he could only tell that it wasn’t Kolya and his goon. He pressed himself against the cold stone wall, heedless of the chill that immediately crossed the barrier through his clothes and stole into his skin, and tried to make himself invisible in the dark. It wouldn’t do any good - he knew that rationally - if they were down here, whoever they were, they knew he was there. But the animal part of his brain wanted to hide.

One of the shapes was almost upon him now - it was moving slowly - stopping at each of the other cells and peering in. Rodney thought it looked familiar. The way it moved, the silhouette….

“Sheppard?”

John’s head swiveled and he came to the door of Rodney’s cell.

“Over here,” Sheppard called out to the person behind him. Rodney thought it was a man at first, only because of the outfit, but then realized it was Emissary Emmagan. Who was now was apparently in the business of accompanying Sheppard to the dungeon of the Genii Embassy.

“What?” Rodney said insensibly.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Sheppard asked, as Teyla took out a set of keys and proceeded to try them one at a time on the cell lock.

“Sheppard… what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to rescue you.”

“What?!?” Rodney repeated, his voice cracking on the word.

Teyla must have found the right key because the lock gave away and then the cell door opened and Sheppard stepped in, moving toward where Rodney still had himself pressed against the wall of the cell.

“Did they hurt you? ” John asked, coming to stand before Rodney and placing a hand on his shoulder. It was warm and solid and pretty much the only thing that kept him from immediately assuming this was some kind of fear-induced hallucination.

“What?”

“Hurt, Rodney. Are you hurt?” John’s voice was low and patient. Rodney’s eyes flickered from him to Teyla who stood behind John, turning her head now and again to listen down the hallway.

“John, we should not linger,” Teyla said, her voice low.

Rodney’s eyes moved back to John. His gaze didn’t seem to have moved from Rodney’s face and now raked down Rodney’s body.

“You don’t look injured. You look okay,” John said.

He was essentially speaking to himself since Rodney’s brain was stuck on a loop. Sheppard was here. How was Sheppard here?

“What are you doing here?” Rodney managed.

Sheppard smiled. “I told you, I’m here to rescue you.” And then he winked - winked! - at Rodney. Maybe this was a fear-induced hallucination after all. “Come on.” He grabbed Rodney’s hand and his grip, like his hand had been on his shoulder only moments ago, was solid and warm. Grounding. He tugged Rodney behind him as he made his way back out of the cell. Once in the corridor where there was more light, Rodney could see Sheppard had a long gun with a sharp knife at the end.

“You’re armed,” he said dully, as they climbed the stairs.

Sheppard didn’t turn around to look at him as he answered. “Well, you kind of need to be when you’re storming an embassy.”

“I don’t understand.”

Teyla exited the stairwell first, peering her head around the corner and then nodding at Sheppard who followed her and tugged Rodney along after him.

“You were bleeding. On the ground. I didn’t know if they killed you or not.” Rodney couldn’t get the image out of his head.

John seemed to be listening to him, but at the same time was scanning the area, much like Teyla was. Rodney couldn’t take his eyes off John. The way he moved was both familiar and incongruous with what Rodney knew. He was still elegant - lithe and deft - as he always was, but now instead of an insouciant air surrounding him, there was a grim, almost predatory grace to his movements.

Rodney had never seen him move quite like he did now.

“I told you, I was barely shot,” Sheppard said, having some kind of conversation with Teyla that used only her hand signals and his eyebrows in response.

“I thought they might have killed you.”

“They got the jump on me a little.” John’s tone was rueful - almost like he was more embarrassed than hurt.

“What is happening?” Rodney muttered as he was pulled along by John.

John and Teyla stopped at the end of a corridor and John dropped Rodney’s hand to hold his weapon in both of his, while Teyla peered around the corner. She pulled back and shook her head. Rodney saw a muscle in John’s jaw flex as he ground his teeth.

“I must admit, this is quite a surprise, Lord Sheppard,” Kolya’s voice called out from somewhere beyond the corner of the corridor. Kolya must be somewhere in the main foyer, which, Rodney realized, they’d have to go through to reach the front doors.

Teyla and John exchanged a steely look. Rodney’s eyes flickered back and forth between them - what did this mean? Were they trapped now?

Kolya voice rang out again. “Or perhaps you prefer your nom de guerre? The Falcon.”

Rodney’s eyes widened. The Falcon? John? He looked to John and Teyla at Kolya’s words. Both seemed unsurprised by Kolya’s announcement.

John was the Falcon?

No, that was… that was… well, it wasn’t impossible since Rodney didn’t like to use that word unless something truly deserved it. Many things were improbable, but not necessarily impossible. Although if he had a sliding scale on which he rated items based on their improbability with ‘most likely’ on one end and ‘incredibly improbable’ toward the other end (which could diverge out to infinity asymptotically), his husband being the Falcon would have been strictly toward the latter end, climbing up that asymptote as it rose upward toward infinity.

John was… John. He went to parties and smiled and laughed with the rich. He had ridiculous hair that couldn’t be tamed and he tied his silk cravats in stupidly complex knots. He was charming and uninvolved in politics and bet on horses and went to gaming halls until all hours of the night.

Didn’t he?

And, Rodney had recently decided, John had been shot because he was having a romantic affair. 

Wasn’t he?

Only… he paid attention when Rodney talked. He remembered what Rodney was working on, and that Rodney was intolerant to citrus. He tried to engage Rodney in conversation every day, and smiled at Rodney when he did. He was never cruel to Rodney, never harsh.

Yes, he was distant at times and would be gone from the house for days on end. But, now that Rodney thought of it, those disappearances lined up with the papers’ reports of the Falcon’s escapades.

And! John had been shot the same time the news reported the Falcon had been injured.

“You’re the Falcon?!?!” Rodney hissed.

John looked at him and sheepishly shrugged, his lips curled in a bit of a smile.

“Are you kidding me right now? You didn’t think this was important information to share with your husband?”

John replied _sotto voce,_ his tone defensive _._ “It was hard to bring up casually. Besides, it’s not like you told me you were working on cryptography.”

“For the Falcon! For you apparently!”

“Yes, I believe we’ve all learned a valuable lesson on how ignorant certain people can be,” said Teyla, keeping her eyes on the lookout for anything approaching their position.

“This is unbelievable.” Rodney was amazed how much volume he could actually put into whispering when motivated. “I thought you were having an affair!”

John’s eyebrows shot up and then came back together in a confused frown. “An affair? With whom?”

Rodney threw his hands in the air. “I didn’t know! I thought that’s why you’d been shot! A lover’s quarrel ending in a dual!”

“When would I have time to have an affair?”

Teyla reached over where John was crouched low and found Rodney’s arm and squeezed it tightly. “It would be greatly appreciated if you two could save this conversation for when we are not surrounded by the Genii.”

Her tone brokered no argument and Rodney pressed his lips together and held his tongue.

“How many?”

Rodney had no idea what John meant by his whispered question until Teyla answered. Her voice was so quiet that if Rodney hadn’t been able to see her lips, he wouldn’t have been able to piece together what she said.

“Too hard to see. Kolya and five men at least. Maybe more.”

“I admit,” Kolya called out. “I didn’t put it together until just now, seeing you and your team in action. Who else would have such daring and disregard for the law as to invade Genii territory but the Falcon?”

Rodney watched John’s face, looking for any hint of what he might do. His expression, like the rest of what Rodney had seen tonight, was foreign to him. His face was closed off, his mouth tight-lipped. He was crouched just in front of Rodney, with Teyla in front of them. Rodney’s eyes widened when he saw droplets of blood on the floor underneath John. John’s gunshot wound was still bleeding. Rodney wondered if there’d been time between his kidnapping and John storming the embassy for any kind of medical treatment. Knowing what he knew now about his husband, probably not.

“Surrender is your best option, Lord Sheppard. I would hate to kill you. It would be a shame to lose a military mind such as yours.”

“Have you got any grenades on you?” John asked and Rodney was completely confused until he realized that John wasn’t talking to him, but to Teyla.

Teyla nodded. “Two.”

John made a ‘hmm’ sound and looked contemplative. Until now, Rodney hadn’t realized such an amount of sudden dread could well inside him with such little input. Seemingly able to read John’s mind much better than Rodney could, Teyla pulled out the aforementioned grenades from a side satchel and cradled them in her hand. John then slipped another two out of his own pockets. Rodney’s eyes felt like saucers to him - large and round as he stared at them. They looked so innocuous. He’d never seen weapons like them before. He knew how they worked having once been interested in the science of them, but this was the first moment he’d ever seen anything like them close up.

“We’ll pull the pins and toss your two out there. Hope they get close. We wait for the explosions and then we move. As fast as we can.” John looked to Rodney as he spoke, like he was waiting for some kind of affirmation or confirmation. Rodney realized in that moment he was the only inexperienced one among the three of them. John had a military background and now, knowing John was also the Falcon, Rodney understood John’s military experience was likely not a purchased commission where John sat behind a desk all day long and wrote letters, but instead would have consisted of real battle. Teyla, while by no means relaxed, had an air of experience and familiarity with their situation about here. She must be well-involved with John’s campaign as the Falcon and all the escapades that entailed.

Rodney was the one who needed John’s instructions. Rodney was the one who’d spent his life behind a desk or a lectern. Rodney was the one who was now seriously doubting the athletic capacity of his lungs and their ability to make the mad dash to the door, and then the courtyard beyond.

It was only once they were outside the embassy gates that they would be back on Atlantean soil.

Not feeling sure of himself at all, Rodney pressed his lips together and nodded. John nodded once in return to Rodney and then once at Teyla. She pulled the pins on her two grenades and rolled them out toward the main entrance.

The didn’t make much sound at all as they rolled and Rodney strained his hearing, as if by listening he would be able to determine exactly when they’d gotten as far as they would before they exploded. Oh God, he should have asked how long he had; he had no idea how long the time was between ‘pin-pull’ and ‘ka-boom.’

Listening as hard as he was, and with how tense he held his body, the actual explosion forced him into a head-to-toe flinch, including his heart making a mad attempt to escape out his chest. He would have clutched at his neck, wishing for an imaginary strand of pearls, but Sheppard was already grabbing at his hand as he pushed to his feet and pulled Rodney after him.

They were in the main foyer and it was a mess of smoke and yelling and noise and Rodney didn’t know which way he was supposed to go, only that John’s hand was in his, tugging him along. Rodney’s feet hit something, he didn’t know what, and he stumbled, hitting the marble floor hard on his kneecaps. He inhaled to shout, to swear and got a lung full of burning smoke and acrid air that scorched his soft tissue. He fell forward, trying to keep crawling in the same direction John had been pulling him and his hands hit something cloth-covered and partially solid. A leg, it was someone’s leg and he recoiled back, not knowing whose it was, or if the person was alive or dead.

Suddenly, another hand grabbed him, but unlike when John had taken his hand, this was harsh and it seized him by the hair, pulling him about a foot sideways away from where he’d been crawling. Instinctively, Rodney swung one of his arms out, hoping to connect. He knew this wasn’t John; John wouldn’t grab him like this. That left a limited number of people it could be and the only person Rodney knew by name in the embassy was the one he dearly hoped it was not.

“Lord Sheppard,” Kolya’s voice rang out in the marble foyer, echoing off the stone surfaces. “It seems you’ve lost something of yours.”

The foyer was still full of smoke, but as Kolya dragged Rodney away (in a most undignified manor) from the immediate area where the grenades had exploded to the foot of the grand staircase, it cleared enough that Rodney could see John and Teyla by the front door. They’d made it through - past two armed Genii who were either dead or unconscious in the center of the floor, and three others who all seemed wounded in some fashion and not able to draw weapons. John had his rifle up and was aiming at them, or rather at Kolya, Rodney supposed. His expression was murderous, and Rodney was glad it wasn’t directed at him.

“Let him go.” Sheppard’s tone had no inflection.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rodney could see that Kolya had his own weapon, a small revolver, directed at Rodney’s head. He was afraid to move - afraid any action on his part would cause Kolya to shoot him - accidentally or not.

“You’re still on Genii soil, Lord Sheppard, and not in a position to make demands.”

“I will shoot you.”

“And risk hitting your husband?”

“I’m not aiming at him.”

A shot rang out, so loud that Rodney registered the ringing in his ear from it before his brain processed the sound from the gunshot. Who had fired? Had he been shot? He didn’t feel shot, but maybe it was shock?

Kolya’s body fell away from Rodney and he had a moment of stark terror when he was too afraid to move to find out what it meant. John crossed the distance between them impossibly fast and gripped Rodney by the hand.

“Let’s go.”

Once more, Rodney was unable to do anything but trail behind him. John Sheppard was a force of nature, and in that moment, Rodney could only follow his lead. Rodney looked over his shoulder to see Kolya struggling on the ground, still alive, and reaching for his weapon.

They burst out of the embassy. The fresh air was cool on his face and in his lungs as his body purged the smoke-filled air from the interior. Rodney’s legs burned to keep up with John. Teyla was just in front of them, heading for the gates.

Shots rang out and Rodney instinctively ducked even as his brain told him it was useless. He looked up to see Ronan Dex, a man he knew only by name, just on the other side of the gate, aiming a gun at them, or rather, behind them. Ronan fired several shots and Rodney heard more from behind, but felt no impacts and assumed that meant he was unharmed.

Dex stood next to a large carriage with several beasts of horses already stamping their feet and huffing huge exhales of air out of their blooming nostrils. As soon as they were out of the gates, Teyla dodged off to the side, mounting a single horse as Dex opened the door of the carriage. Rodney felt hands on his flanks boosting him and pushing him in, and then John’s body was crowding his as he climbed in, immediately on Rodney’s heels.

Rodney fell across the seat more-so than actually sat down, and only managed to turn around and right himself when John knocked twice on the roof and the carriage lurched forward, pulling away from the Genii Embassy impossibly fast.

He was free. They were out.

Rodney’s elation at their rescue was short-lived when John dropped his gun and then sagged into his seat, putting a hand to his side, under his coat.

“Your wound,” Rodney said, kneeling on the floor of the carriage for stability as he pulled at the edges of John’s coat and pushed the out of the way. Bright red blood bloomed across John’s shirt, shiny and wet. John’s hand, pressed against his side, was already covered in blood, and more seeped past his fingers.

“It’s open. I’ll have to have Becket stitch it shut again.”

Rodney pulled his own shirt out of his pants and then with a mighty tear, tore the bottom half of it off and wadded it up. He pushed John’s hand aside and pressed it against the wound.

“You idiot. I can not believe you attempted a rescue while you were injured like this.”

“Hey now, I didn’t just attempt a rescue,” John argued, his voice strained. Rodney looked up at him and John’s gaze caught his own. “I succeeded.”

“You did,” Rodney responded, a bit dumbly. “Why?”

“Why?” John repeated. “Not how? I have to admit, I was pretty sure your first question was going to be how on earth we got in.”

“I suppose I could ask that as well, but I’m more interested in the why.”

“Why I rescued you?” John asked. He frowned, his dark brows stark against his pale face. A sheen of sweat covered his face and Rodney adjusted his hand to ensure he kept pressure on John’s wound.

“Yes, why?”

John studied Rodney for a moment as he knelt at John’s feet. The carriage rocked side to side and the only sounds were the both of them catching their breaths, and the rhythmic clop-clop of the horses hooves on the cobblestones as they ran. Rodney wasn’t even sure where they were going. Home? He hoped it was home. He wanted to be home. Home with John.

He wasn’t sure what expression he had on his face, only that suddenly, John smiled - his slow, unhurried, leisurely smile that _did things_ to Rodney’s internal organs - things that surely couldn’t be measured by science or man. John’s hand came up he cradled the side of Rodney’s jaw in his palm - his skin hot to the touch against Rodney’s.

“You’re my favorite person.”

Rodney blinked. “I am?”

John’s smile grew slightly wider and Rodney surged forward, upward, and pressed his lips hard against John’s. There was a split-second where he thought he might have made a grave error, when John didn’t move, but then John was kissing him _back_ and it was thrilling.

Until the carriage hit a bump and John pulled away with a pained breath, his bloody hand coming to rest on top of Rodney’s, which was still applying pressure to John’s bleeding wound.

“Sorry, sorry,” John murmured, pressing his lips against Rodney’s temple. His other hand cupped the back of Rodney’s neck and Rodney turned his head slightly for them to press their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and breathed in, savoring the feeling of being so close to John.

“Don’t be sorry, we have time.”

“We do?” John asked, a tinge of worry in his voice. “No more divorce?”

“No more divorce,” Rodney affirmed, pressing his lips quickly to John’s as assurance. He sat down next to John, who immediately leaned against him, resting his head on Rodney’s shoulder. Rodney took a deep breath and enjoyed the heavy, warm weight of John against his side and listened to the measured, steady sound of the horses hooves as they pulled them home.


	7. Chapter 7

Epilogue

Rodney lookup up and squinted as the door to his lab opened, sunlight streaming in.

“You live like a mushroom in here. Why do you always want to work in the dark?”

Rodney couldn’t help the automatic grin that came to his lips at John’s words as John stepped inside the laboratory, holding a picnic basket that must be heavy from the way he was focused on balancing it.

Rodney set his pen down and stood up, unable to hide his joy and eagerness at seeing John. “Astrophysics is my main focus. I’m primarily concerned with things that are only viewable in the dark.”

“That’s when you look at stuff at night. There’s no reason to be ensconced in the dark during the day.” John set the picnic basket down on the table and started unpacking food. Bread, cheese, meats, berries, a small container of some kind of slaw that the cook had made.

“It helps me focus,” Rodney said, reaching out to grab one of the bright red raspberries. John rapped Rodney’s knuckles with the flat edge of one of the knives.

“That’s dessert.”

“The organization of food into categories such as breakfast, lunch, dinner, or even into main dishes, snacks and dessert is a societal construct and has no scientific reasoning backing it.”

John tried to remain serious but couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter. Rodney took the opportunity to finish stealing a raspberry and pop it in his mouth. John leaned forward and kissed Rodney, his tongue sweeping into Rodney’s mouth, tasting the raspberry juice. Rodney closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss, sighing softly.

This was his life now.

Some days he worked in the study, or some days like today, he was in the lab. If John was at home, he would either come to the study and let Rodney know when lunch was ready, or he’d package it up and bring it out to the lab. Rodney would take a break while they ate. Or he’d take a break while they completed _other_ activities.

No matter what, lunch was always _delicious_.

“You’re late today,” Rodney said as he finally pulled away from the kiss and sat down at the table. John handed him a loaf of bread and then presented him with the handle end of a knife. Rodney took the hint and started slicing.

“I was meeting with Ronan and Teyla. We might have to go over to the Genii land tomorrow.”

Rodney’s stomach turned over with nerves. He hated when John had to go - he hated the risk, hated the uncertainty, hated being apart from his husband. But at least now he knew about it and understood where John was going and what he was doing.

After the shootout at the embassy, John had tried to explain his reasoning for keeping his secret life as the Falcon from Rodney and as he’d tried to articulate why it seemed like a good and necessary idea, his tone had gone bashful and sheepish. Rodney had tried (not very hard and not for very long) to listen without interrupting but somewhere around the moment when John revealed he did have feelings for and was attracted (physically) to Rodney, Rodney lunged across the chaise lounge where they were having their very serious discussion and kissed John soundly on the lips.

He would have continued, but Carson had been in the midst of stitching John’s wound shut again and indicated he could not work under such circumstances and could they at least wait until he was done suturing? (And also he advised them against anything too, ahem, _strenuous_ for a few days, until this round of stitches had a bit more time to heal).

John had thought he was doing the right thing keeping his secret and that it wouldn’t be so much of an inconvenience to their marriage. But, then the wedding night happened and Rodney had been intractably cold and unyielding upon John’s return.

Rightly so, Rodney argued. When Rodney tried to explain his emotional state after that night (with halting, somewhat stilted speech - words of feeling were never his forte), John admitted it had been a terrible and absurd idea from the beginning and apologized profusely. The night of the wedding, Lorne had received word from their contacts that a very particular scientist with extensive explosives knowledge was going to be moved from one Genii location to another, and if they wanted to get the scientist out, she was ready and willing to be extracted. The location to which she was going to be moved to was one of the more heavily secured ones, known amongst the scientists themselves as The Gulag. No one had ever returned from it. They couldn’t risk missing the opportunity to get her on Atlantean soil. In the short time it took to saddle up and leave the house, John admitted he’d forgotten he was a newly married man and he hadn’t left word to or for his husband on his unplanned and highly urgent absence.

It had all snow-balled from there.

Rodney had been hurt and John had been unsure how to reveal the truth to a man that seemed like he might not care.

But John did care for Rodney and was, in fact, in love with him. He’d married Rodney as he’d been nervous someone else would soon realize his value and John would lose his chance forever.

Rodney! Valuable!

But he _was_. To John. And now he felt that every day.

Or at least, every day John was at home.

“For another rescue?” Rodney asked, trying to keep his tone even as sliced the bread for their sandwiches.

“Intelligence gathering. There’s been some chatter about Kolya’s whereabouts but the people who are willing to talk to us aren’t willing to put it down to paper for fear of anything being found and traced back to them. They still want to stay on the Genii side to keep gathering intel if they can. They want their land free as much as we do. More, I daresay, since it belongs to them, and are willing to risk their lives for it. But they don’t want to leave as they can do more from inside.”

Rodney swallowed thickly. “That sounds like it could be a trap.”

John took a bite of his freshly-made sandwich and nodded. “It could be. But we need the information. And I still have a score to settle with Kolya.”

Kolya had not been seen since the shootout at the embassy. The only trail left of him, literally, was the one of blood in the main foyer across the marble floor. It ended at the doorway. He was presumed alive and at large, but no one, certainly not anyone it Atlantis, knew were he’d gone off to.

“You shot him. Isn’t that settlement enough?”

“Not for kidnapping you, no.” John’s tone didn’t leave room for argument.

Rodney tried not to let the fierce swell of emotion he felt at John’s words show on his face. It was best not to encourage John in his foolishly romantic notions of protection and valor.

“How long?”

John considered the question for a moment. “A fortnight, maybe a bit longer.”

“A fortnight!” Rodney exclaimed, a piece of cheese falling from his sandwich as he did. “That’s ridiculous.”

John leaned across the table. “Are you going to miss me?”

“Well - I - of course - I’m quite fond of you. Stupid man.”

John smiled. “You say the most charming things.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Don’t get shot again.”

“But if I do, you’ll kiss it better.” He leaned in a bit closer, and Rodney felt a blush rise up at his proximity and tone. “Won’t you?”

“No. I will let you languish in pain and suffering as punishment for leaving me and getting shot.” Rodney couldn’t look up. If he did, if he looked into John’s eyes, it was all over.

“Rodney,” John cajoled with a sing-song tone. He placed a hand on Rodney’s knee, and the touch sent a shockwave through Rodney’s body. He knew that touch now. He knew it on his knee, on his hand, on his elbow, on his neck, on… other places.

“Oh, stop it, you’re ridiculous. Look at you,” Rodney said, finally looking up and catching John’s green-hazel gaze. “With your absurd eyes and your floppy hair and that utterly preposterous smirk. It’s not at all attractive.” Rodney’s hands flapped around him as he spoke and though they came close to hitting John, he didn’t flinch or move away once.

“But you love me anyway,” John said, his voice low as he closed the distance between them, his lips nearly touching Rodney’s.

“And I love you anyway,” Rodney agreed just before they kissed.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've written anything, and even longer since I posted anything. if you read this, I hope you enjoy it. Fandom has always been a safe place for me and I don't know if I could have come back to writing anywhere else but here!
> 
> Don't examine the plot too hard and you should have fun! ;)


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